Here I Stand
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: "There are a million things that bind us together-the fact that we're cousins just happens to be one of them." Everyone has a different point of view, of course, and the Weasley grandchildren have their own stories to tell, in their own words. These are the things that bind them together, connecting them, making them who they are. These are their lives, these are their stories.
1. Teddy&Victoire: First Kiss

_Victoire-February 11, 2014_

Victoire's first ever kiss is when she is thirteen years old; he's a Slytherin with dark hair, who doesn't even bother asking her name. He just grabs her arms, snogs her, and leaves. That's it-the first time she is ever kissed is just pure chance. She's curious afterwards, if that is what all kisses are like-as if she was breaking some sort of rule she hadn't known existed.

….

_Teddy-March 17, 2013_

Teddy's first kiss comes when he is nearly fifteen, when Rachael Zheng finally agrees to go out with him. It's a horrible, awkward date that will certainly lead nowhere, though Teddy doesn't know that. She doesn't speak much the entire time, but as they walk back to the castle, she kisses him abruptly on the mouth, and explains that she's not interested.

….

_Victoire-March 5, 2014_

Her next kiss comes three weeks later when she lets her lips fall onto Andrew McCormey's after a Quidditch match. It's a matter of curiosity, of wanting to do something she shouldn't. (Something almost illegal.) McCormey is a sixth year and she a third, but it doesn't matter, because they both know it's not serious. She tells herself that when Victoire watches him turn and kiss her best friend an hour later. (She's lying, of course. _It does matter_.)

….

_Teddy-July 18, 2013_

His next kiss is that summer, when he's hanging out at his godfather's house. He's been spending his time playing with Albus and James, when their cousin, Molly, comes over. She's eleven, almost twelve, and swears he's the cutest boy she's ever seen. Teddy doesn't even what she's doing until her lips are covering hers. He pushes her off, explaining that he's fifteen and she's eleven-it will never work between them, and he's not interested. (So, why does it hurt when she walks away with tears in her eyes?)

….

_Victoire-November 11, 2014_

The third kiss doesn't come until her fourth year, when she begins to take boys seriously. It's Luke Garrett who catches her eye, a tall fifth year with sandy hair and dark eyes. He's so much taller than her, not muscular, but his hands are warm when they run through her hair. She lets him kiss her over and over, because that's what girlfriends do. They last all of four months, until Luke moves on to another girl. It hurts her, but she's already curious who she can make kiss her like he did.

….

_Teddy-June 13, 2014_

Teddy goes an entire year without even holding another girl's hand, though it's not from lack of trying. It's just that no one seems interested, and Teddy's not the most outgoing sort of person. Girls scare him, just a bit, and it isn't until he ends up drunk at a party that his lips find themselves nibbling on a girl's. They go at it for hours, until he leads her to a secluded spot. In the morning, his head will hurt, and he'll feel embarrassed, because he doesn't even know her name. (_She is his first._)

….

_Victoire-April 8, 2015_

Later, there is Mark Whittaker, who takes her to Hogsmeade and calls her pretty. She lets him put his hand up her shirt and touch her breasts, but that is as far as it goes. Her parents have pushed it harshly into her mind that she isn't a slut; she doesn't sleep with any of the boys, but it can't hurt to let her lips have a little fun, right? Besides, she knows her limits, and so far, there isn't a boy who is even interesting enough to actually _think _about crawling into bed with.

….

_Teddy-August 18, 2017_

He has always liked Victoire, though it was usually more in a big-brother sort of way. He knows she's pretty, and he can't help but grow attracted as she grows older. After all, she's no longer the scrawny teenager who follows him on the train; she's seventeen and beautiful. All he wants to do now is kiss her, and he wants to mean it in a way that the other kisses never did. (Is it possible he's fallen in love?)

….

_Victoire-August 19, 2017_

Teddy Remus Lupin-what a boy. He was, of course, beautiful, and mysterious. He had always fascinated her, Uncle Harry's godson, who was part of the family but always seemed to hold his distance. Besides, he was two years older than she, and hadn't Victoire sworn off older men after Mark? But, she can't help but stare at him every time he opens his mouth, watching Teddy's lips move. She had to kiss him, Victoire decided. At least once. (Is it possible she's falling in love?)

….

_Teddy-August 20, 2017_

It's a wonderful kiss, the best one he's ever had. He holds her tightly and whispers that he loves her. The kiss seems to last forever, and all he can think is that _this _is the girl for him, the one he wants to be with forever. He can't imagine ever kissing anyone else, and he tells Victoire that.

….

_Victoire-August 20, 2017_

The kiss wasn't as great as she had thought it would be. His breath smells like peppermint (breath mints, no doubt, and she doesn't want to hurt his feelings by saying she hates peppermint) and his tongue is awkward in her mouth. But, he's sweet and she's (maybe) in love with him. She agrees to a date, because she honestly wants to date him. Victoire doesn't expect it to last long, though. He'll bore her, eventually, and she'll move on.

….

_Teddy-December 24, 2018_

Their last (oh, Merlin, please don't let it be the last one) kiss is during Christmas, the year after she gets out school. They've been dating for a year and a half, and he wants to marry her. Victoire's been distant recently, but he's sure it's just her new job. But, when she meets him for their date that he finally got her to agree to, all she does is quickly peck him on the mouth and explain she's not ready to be that serious. In fact, she's not really interested anymore. It breaks his heart.

….

_Victoire-December 24, 2018_

The poor boy is obviously heartbroken, and she feels somewhat bad about it. He was clearly more in love with her than she was with him, but Teddy wants to marry her. She has to explain the situation, has to make it clear that she's done, she wants to break up with him. It's pathetic really, how sad he looks when she explains what's happening. She kisses him one last time and gets up from their table, apologising for the inconvenience. He sits there silently, not meeting her eyes.

….

_Teddy-December 24, 2018_

He wishes he could go back to their very first kiss, when he was just a naïve little boy who was curious about a pretty, sharp-tongued girl.


	2. Teddy&Molly: Sorrow

_July 18, 2013_

Teddy wasn't sure how he felt about girls, in general, just yet. After all, he was just fifteen, and had only been kissed once in his entire life. (It was by a girl named Rachael Zheng, who hadn't really loved him, but hadn't bothered to mention such things until _after _he bought her supper and a drink at The Three Broomsticks.)

He knew that he was interested in girls (they invaded his dreams, and made it hard to hold conversations) but he wasn't sure _who _he was interested in, not yet.

Maybe girls grew up faster than boys, or maybe it was just easier for them to fall in love-he wasn't entirely sure, but he knew for a fact that girls seemed to fall in love so easily, far too easily, and at the strangest times.

But he was fifteen and unsure of how feels. Maybe that's why she kisses him, maybe that's why she takes control of the situation.

Molly, the little girl who is already so grown-up, so mature. She was eleven (almost twelve, she is quick to remind him, pursing her lips in that manner of hers, eyes widening) and appeared to have an obsession with Teddy.

He'd noticed her around school, following him sometimes and always asking him questions.

They're in the same house, even, and at first he's thinks it's all a childish crush. It's cute, the others tell him, his own little friend to follow him around, like a cat.

Soon enough, though, she was always making sure to be nearby, either sitting with him at mealtimes, or with him at games.

He tried to write it off as just affection shown between two people who are nearly cousins, but he had seen the way she looked about ready to cry when he had asked out Rachael, taking off in tears when the girl accepted.

Teddy hated making people upset, hating sorrow in general, but he didn't know how to make Molly happy and still keep her as the respectable, well-behaved girl everyone has come to known her as.

Molly was fanatic about him, he could tell, and Teddy struggled to find a way to keep her the sweet, innocent girl he had grown to know.

….

He'd been spending the summer at Harry's house, baby-sitting and just hanging out. It was fun being with James and Albus, who are eight and seven.

Even little Lily, who was just five, is sweet; at the Potter house, Teddy felt like he's a part of something. At the Potter house, the sorrow that overwhelmed his grandmother did not affect him as much.

(He loved his grandmother, but she wallowed in her sorrow of the loss of her husband and only child, and he didn't think he can take the sadness.)

He felt happy at the Potter home, he felt safe, and most importantly, he felt welcome.

It was common for the Weasleys to switch out who was staying at what house, cousins constantly spending the weekend at one uncle's house, and then another's.

He shouldn't have been so surprised to come down one morning, then, to find Molly sitting on their couch, watching the telly.

She was wearing coveralls and a bow in her hair, looking as innocent as any eleven year old girl should on a Sunday morning.

"Hey, Molly. Nice seeing you again," he greeted her, and Molly's eyes seem to glitter with happiness. Teddy would have taken this as a warning sign for what was to come, but he was too busy walking over to help Ginny with breakfast. She smiled, following him into the kitchen, taking a seat next to Lily, who was giggling happily about something or another. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"It was a surprise visit, really." Ginny said. "She just asked to come over last night, and I told her sure. After all, Molly's a sweet girl, and she's always so well behaved. Unlike _some _people in this house." She said, going over to the boys to separate them, as James had begun to steal Al's bacon, making the seven year old cry out indignantly. "Hey, Teddy, Molly, do you mind if I just pop out really quick? I need to go check on the neighbor's cat while they're away."

"That's no problem, Aunt Ginny!" Molly said eagerly, and Teddy nodded, somewhat less enthused. He was beginning to wonder if Molly had only decided to come over after finding out he was here as well. Teddy fidgeted as Ginny got up and moved to the front door, reminding himself that there were witnesses, and Molly was always trying to maintain her good girl behavior; she would never try anything ridiculous, would she?

What was he talking about? Teddy had to smile-he was being _silly_. Of course this was just a childish crush of Molly's, something that would go away soon, with age.

Why was he so worried, really, when she was probably not even interested in him anymore?

Probably, she had just come over to play with Lily, who she most likely hadn't seen in a while. He had no reason to think she'd be anything but the perfect girl she always was.

Just then, Molly got to her feet, wandering from the room, and Teddy almost immediately forgot her, and he began to enjoy his breakfast in peace, joking around with the younger children and making them laugh by changing his hair to wild colours, or twisting his nose into a funny shape.

It was a rather calm breakfast, and Teddy was beginning to relax. (After all, he didn't have his grandmother's sorrowful attitude hanging around him at all times now, did he?)

"Teddy?" Molly called from the sitting room, which was just around the corner. "Teddy, can you please come here?" There was a sniffling sound, like someone was wiping their nose. Molly's voice was shaky, like she was trying to keep herself calm. "Please? I think I need some help." Teddy got up, hoping the younger kids could keep themselves behaved while he went to help Molly.

"What's the problem?" he asked, coming into the sitting room to find her curled up on the couch, her cheeks wet with tears, as she sniffled again. "Oh, Molly, what's happened? What's wrong?" he asked, rushing over to where she was sitting. He hated seeing people cry, hated the feeling of sadness and sorrow that always came with tears. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she sniffed again, swiping at the tears. "No. I just miss my grandmother," she said in a shaky, quivering voice. "My _other _grandmother." Teddy vaguely remembered something about Mrs. Audrey's mother having passed away recently. "I miss her so much, you know? I mean, she lived in Scotland, so we weren't as close of a family, but I really loved her. It was so sudden, too."

"Yeah. That must be hard," Teddy mumbled awkwardly. Sorrow, again, sorrow filling up the air around him. He couldn't escape it, and he wasn't sure how to comfort Molly.

Other than his parents, Teddy had never lost anyone close; he wasn't sure how to comfort the grieving girl without hurting her even more. "Do you want a hug?" he asked, and she immediately nodded, throwing her arms around him.

"Thank you for making me feel better, Teddy." She said, still sniffing and wiping away her tears. "You always make me feel better, you're so nice." She giggled, a watery laugh, and Teddy smiled, because at least she wasn't upset anymore. "I always thought you were really cute, though," she said, and Teddy froze, remembering how obsessed with him she had seemed last year.

"Now, Molly…" he began, but Molly was faster, pushing her lips onto his and he gasped, completely startled. She seemed to take that as a positive sign and moved even closer, pressing harder.

Teddy pushed her away, and she giggled again. Teddy shook his head, trying to clear it, as he wiped his mouth. _She's still obsessed with me_, he thought to himself, cringing inwardly.

"Thanks for making me feel better, Teddy." She said again, still giggling. "I was so sorrowful, wasn't I? But you always make me feel better, don't you, Teddy? Do you love me, Teddy? Oh, please say you do! I love you, I've always loved you. I have pictures," she said, dropping her voice as she battered her eyelashes at him. "I have pictures of you, and I know lots of stuff about you, like that you love chocolate. Please say you love me."

"Molly, you're eleven years old-"

"Twelve, Teddy! I turned twelve in March-"

"Okay, you're twelve, and I'm fifteen. I just…we've got nothing in common, and I'm not even in love with you. I mean, you're a darling, sweet girl, but you're closer to being a little sister to me. Listen," because she looked crestfallen and the sorrow was threatening to fill him up again. "just listen to me. You're not really in love with me, Molly, you're too young. Maybe you'll find a nice boy one day, but not me."

She was crying now, angry, sorrowful tears, as she ran off. Teddy frowned, wishing she hadn't been so obsessed, and that she wasn't so upset now.

He wasn't good with girls.


	3. Teddy&Dominique: Rules

_March, 2019_

Rules, rules, rules. There were always _rules. _Rules at home, rules at school, rules she imposed on herself, because she was a _good little girl_, and always did what Daddy told her to.

There were a long list of rules for Dominique, and she told them to herself every day, lest she forget and mess up, and stop being a _good little girl_.

Because, if not for that, who was she except the middle child of Bill Weasley?

She wasn't the prettiest (that was Torie) and she wasn't the smartest (that was Louis) but she was only human, and couldn't she just wish for a boy to hold her hand? _Not if that boy is dating your sister, _said the voice in her head, the one that made the rules that Dominique lived by each and every day.

Simple rules, usually, but her fascination with Teddy Lupin wasn't at all a simple thing.

_Don't run in the house, Dom. _

_Don't eat all the sweets, Dom. _

_Don't stay out past curfew, Dom. _

_Don't fall in love with your sister's ex-boyfriend, Dom. _

She hadn't meant to fall in love, hadn't meant to become attracted to Teddy Lupin, but he was pretty, and kind to her, the way she had always been told a boy should act.

He used to come over all the time when Vic and he were dating, spending long hours on their couch or at the dinner table, or at the beach.

Supposedly, Torie and Teddy were going for a swim, but she knew better, when they came back with dry swim suits and secret glances.

She had seen the way they laughed together and nudged each other's foot at dinner that night, sharing entire conversations just by looking at each other-conversations she had no idea about.

Dominique turned away, wishing it was _her _that Teddy was laughing and joking with, instead of Torie, even though she knew Dominique ought to be happy for her sister.

(But Victorie always got what she wanted, even boys. Couldn't Dominique just have this one thing?)

_Don't be jealous, Dom. _

_Don't be petty, Dom. _

_Don't be dramatic, Dom. _

_Don't let them see you cry, Dom. _

More rules she put upon herself. More restrictions, more regulations. Every day, there were more things she had to forbid herself from doing, more things she had to write down on her ever growing list of rules that she could never, _ever _break.

Dominique tried to be a good girl, a good daughter, a good sister, but, she couldn't help it, she just couldn't help herself, not when it came to Teddy.

Seeing the two of them made her green with envy, and she only put more rules down on her list, scowling each time her quill splashed across the page, knowing it was just another turn of the knife, just another reason she was so _desperate _to escape dreary, rule-bound England.

Dominique was glad when she went away to school that September and Torie didn't, because she could take a break from the _Torie and Teddy show _that always seemed to be playing, even in her dreams.

And, although she felt guilty admitting it, she was almost overjoyed when Torie came home one day, about a week before Christmas, to explain she'd broken up with Teddy.

No real explanation given, but who cared? The beautiful Teddy was single.

Didn't that mean that maybe, just maybe, she now had a chance with the one she had always fantasized about, the one she'd given entire activities, entire chunks of her life, up for, just in the hopes that maybe it wouldn't hurt so much anymore.

_Don't tell them how you feel, Dom. _

_Don't love the wrong boy, Dom._

_Don't dream about Teddy, Dom. _

_Don't break the rules, Dom. _

He wasn't even interested in her, she knew. He was still hurting from his break up with Torie, forced to make nice at social gatherings, and it wasn't like he would ever be interested in the younger, not as pretty sister.

Victorie shown like a star wherever she walked, and Dominique followed after, stumbling and trying to glow all on her own. (But Dominique was just a candle compared to her sister, easily snuffed out, easily passed over when it came time to look at the Weasley sisters.)

She was the middle child, and she had rules about these sorts of things, rules that she had tightly inscribed into her mind, rules that managed her every step, her every breath of the day. Did he even know her name? (Yes, but did he know why she hated the name?)

Did he even know she existed, or was she just another redheaded Weasley to him? (Of course he knew, but did he ever see her as anything more than the little sister of Victorie, the cousin of Fred.)

She wasn't sure, but Dominique couldn't help but watch him move and wonder _could that be mine? _

_Don't kiss Teddy, Dom. _

_Don't blush, Dom. _

_Don't wish for stupid thing, Dom. _

_Don't fantasize, Dom. _

Dominique tried to run away from how she felt. She put walls up around her heart, and she made rules about people like Teddy.

Maybe in a few years, when they were all older and everyone had gotten over things, she might try to ask Teddy out. Maybe he'd say yes and they'd go on lots of dates and be happy, and he wouldn't mind that she was sixteen and he was twenty.

Maybe they'd fall in love and get married.

Or maybe she would walk into Torie's room and find the two of them intertwined on the bed, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing and giggling.

Her heart dropped as she backed out of the room, tears stinging her eyes, pouring down her cheeks.

She had been foolish, wishing there was always a possibility for the turquoise-haired boy who came in her dreams.

She had been foolish to ever think about breaking the rules, the ones that governed her entire life, keeping her a happier person.

She had been silly to ever hope Teddy would love her, and all Dominique could do was write more, more, _more _rules until she practically drowned in a list of things to keep for herself.

_Don't love boys you can't have, Dom. _

_Don't assume you can have what you want, Dom. _

_Don't ever let your walls fall down, Dom. _

_Don't fall in love, Dom. _


	4. Teddy&Fred: Hope

_August 20, 2020_

Fred raised his wand again, imagining, recalling. He remembered the day he got his Hogwarts letter, the day he'd won his first game of Quidditch, the day he'd asked Christina Hoffman out to Hogsmeade.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his breath heavy, but nothing came out of the tip of his wand. He scowled, dropping onto his bed with a loud sigh.

It never worked, he could never get his Patronus, not even a little wisp. Why did he seem to be the only in his class who still hadn't figured it out?

Fred was dreading going back to school for his sixth year, and not just because he was only one who couldn't do a stupid Patronus.

He had been spending his time in class, learning what he could, but school was beginning to fall by the wayside, becoming less and less important as each day.

After all, hadn't three of his uncles and his own father dropped out school, and weren't they wildly successful?

(Granted, Uncle Harry had been a war hero, Uncle Fred was gone, and Uncle Ron and Dad were running a joke shop, but Fred tended to overlook that part.)

Sure, Dad had dropped out, and he seemed fine, but Fred was sure his parents would _never _allow for him to just quit school, not that Fred really cared what his parents thought of late.

After all, they were adults now, and they just didn't understand what it was like being him.

Their life seemed so perfect, and all he could see ahead of him was two more boring years that would lead him nowhere.

Just then, there was a knock on his door, and Teddy Lupin poked his head in, chewing on a grape pastille.

"Having trouble, Fred?" Teddy asked, popping another candy into his mouth. He offered one to Fred, who shook his head and looked down at his shoes. Teddy Lupin, the cool older brother he had always wanted; Teddy was the oldest, and he always seemed to know so much, but there was no way he'd be able to help Fred now. After all, Teddy had seemed to _love _Hogwarts more than anyone he knew. "Can I help?"

"I doubt it," he mumbled, but found himself opening up to the older boy anyway. "I'm the only one who can't do a stupid Patronus," Fred muttered glumly, scowling at the useless stick of wood in his hand. "I've tried and tried, but nothing seems to be working, and I _hate _Defense class anyway. It's a load of rubbish, and so's the teacher."

Teddy gave him a concerned look, and Fred's blood seemed to burn; he hated when people pitied him because he was _that Weasley child_, the one who was named after his own dead uncle, the one who had been getting into trouble for years, hoping his father would see _Fred his son_, and stop seeing him as _Fred his brother. _

"Harry used to not be able to produce a Patronus, did you know that?" Teddy asked, and Fred looked at him in shock. Uncle Harry, the Head of Auror Department, the strongest wizard Fred knew, had once not been able to produce a Patronus? "Yeah, my dad taught him when Harry was in school. Harry had to learn how to face Dementors when he was _thirteen_, can you imagine? He couldn't do it for the longest time."

"But Uncle Harry can produce one now, a real, corporeal one. I've seen it before; Dad and Mum even talk about how Uncle Harry _taught _them how to produce one. How'd he ever figure it out?"

Suddenly, Fred was interested. He wasn't often told much about what had happened in those dark years before his birth, and he had certainly never imagined his uncle as anything less than perfect, even as a teenager.

"Because my dad taught him how to _hope. _I know at school all they really tell you is that a Patronus comes with thinking of a good memory, since Dementors are known to feed on negativity and all that, right?" Fred nodded, puzzled. _Hope? _What did hope have to do with anything? "Well, there's another part they usually don't talk about: they hardly ever mention with that happy memory, you've got to fill yourself up with hope-without hope, you'll just fail, because you didn't believe in yourself. Hope is the only way to be able to keep on going time after time, even when it's hard. So, have hope, Fred Weasley." He winked at Fred, smiling kindly. "You can make a Patronus, I know it. Just have hope."

"Hope." Fred repeated, not sure he was hearing things right. Maybe Teddy wasn't as good at giving advice as Fred had thought; maybe he was just crazy.

Hope? That's how he'd be able to fight off a Dementor, using hope? What was he five?

Hell, he might as well just go jump in a lake and _hope _he didn't drown. What use was hope? It wouldn't make school easier, or make his parents understand him, and it sure as hell wasn't going to help him fight off Dementors.

"I know you doubt me, Fred, but one day you'll understand." Teddy said calmly and kindly. "One day, you'll lose everything dear to you, and finally, only then, will you understand that the one thing they can't take away from you is your hope. When that day comes, you will have hope. I know it's hard, between school and family and expectations, but you've also got to hold onto your hope, Fred. You'll need it soon, I'm sure."

Teddy smiled and turned to leave, with Fred still standing sullenly in the middle of his room. He didn't need hope, he needed answers.

Teddy was crazy, wasn't he? How was hope going to fight off Dementors?

How was hope going to keep him from dropping out of school?

How was hope going to keep James and him out of trouble all the time?

Hope was useless.

_Fred_ was _hopeless. _


	5. Teddy&Lucy: Mistake

_July 19, 2016_

Lucy scowled at her watch, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited under the trees. Teddy had promised he would be taking her flying that afternoon, and he still hadn't come yet.

She had her broomstick clutched in her right hand, waiting for the familiar face of Teddy Lupin to come bounding up the path of their front driveway, ready to take her away from all her problems for at least a little while.

Teddy was the eldest of them all, the only one who could Apparate yet, since Victoire had failed her test last time around; he had promised they would flying for at least an hour or two, and she was supposed to be back by supper.

Lucy was the younger daughter of Percy and Audrey Weasley, the much-forgotten daughter who had never been able to compare to her perfect-in-every-way sister, Molly.

In the past few years, she'd been feeling more and more invisible, as if everyone had forgotten she ever existed. That was when Teddy had shown up in her life, her uncle's godson; he paid attention to her, made her feel not so invisible.

Although Lucy's friends liked to tease her about it-after all, he was six years older, and very handsome-Lucy wasn't interested in _dating _Teddy.

She just liked him because he paid attention to her when no one else did.

That was why it stung just a little that he seemed to have ditched their weekly flying time without any sort of excuse.

Had he cancelled without telling her, or was he just leaving her out to dry like everyone always did? Lucy always felt like people took her for granted, just a person who was always there in the background, but never prominent enough to pay attention to.

But, she had thought sweet, sweet Teddy was different; she had thought he would never forget about her.

Although everyone else always bossed her around, Teddy had never given her a single order or even requested anything of her except that she always be around when he needed her.

Maybe, in the usual rush that came with Christmas time, their meeting had slipped his mind.

But that didn't make sense-Teddy was usually so well put-together, and he even had put down on his calendar when they were meeting.

It wasn't like him to forget, not when he knew how important this was to her. The teenager began to cry somewhat bitterly, wondering if she had once again been cast away because she just wasn't _good enough_.

That's how it always seemed around her house, with her parents, who doted on _perfect Molly_, but only found criticism to give to their younger daughter.

Should she begin to walk back to the house, when it would it become obvious Teddy wasn't coming? Should she just end this stupid hesitating, and make her way back inside, where Molly would ask why she was still here?

She didn't want to admit that she'd been stood up by the one person she trusted the most, and she didn't want to have to admit it to _herself _that maybe, just maybe, Teddy didn't see her as being nearly as important as he was to her.

Feeling angry, and more than a little ashamed, Lucy found that she had begun to cry.

"I thought I knew you, Teddy Lupin. I thought you were my friend, and that you cared about me." She mumbled to herself quietly, wiping angry tears as she headed back in, her broomstick still clutched in her hand. "I thought you were different, and that you would never ignore me. I guess you were just like everyone else, though, because you don't seem to be coming to get me. I _hate you_, Teddy Lupin!" she shrieked, tossing down her broomstick and running back to the house, swiping away her tears. "_Hate, hate, hate!_"

….

Just then, as Lucy rushed away, crying bitterly, there was a quiet pop at the foot of the garden that belonged to Mr. Percy Weasley.

A tall, lanky young man stood at the gate, peering upwards at the hill that hid the Weasley house, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend, Lucy.

They were supposed to go flying today, and he'd brought his broomstick.

He had even bought a book for her, a thick novel by Mark Twain that they could read together. He knew Lucy loved Mark Twain, and she always looked forward to their time together.

Had she forgotten their scheduled meeting? He wouldn't have blamed her, he nearly forgot himself what with all the flurry of the holidays, and work, and Victoire breaking up with him.

But, he hoped, she hadn't gotten upset that he was late; he knew how sensitive Lucy was, how she seemed to look up to him and hang on his every word, and he also knew that feeling ignored by one of the few people she trusted might shatter the poor girl's heart.

He hoped he hadn't made a mistake in dealing with his sweet, sweet little Lucy.


	6. Teddy&Louis: Confused

_December 22, 2018_

Teddy enjoyed Christmas time; he liked the lights, the trees, the sweets.

He might have even gone so far as to say that Christmas was his favourite time of year, when he got to spend time with his grandmother, and the warm feelings of happiness that just came along with this time of the year.

He especially loved it when that meant being surrounded by his adoptive family, exchanging gifts.

Only one thing could have made this better: if Teddy knew why his girlfriend of a year and a half was avoiding him. He didn't understand the sudden silence, the sudden coldness from her end.

Victoire, or Toire as she liked to be called, had grown distant as of late, not answering his letters or her mobile that he'd given to her for her birthday earlier in May, or ever giving him any explanation for the sudden separation.

Had she fallen out of love with him?

Had he accidentally offended her over something he didn't even recall happening?

It wasn't the first time that Teddy had admitted to being confused by women and general, and Toire especially, who was complicated and conflicted, always changing her mind without telling him or suddenly becoming emotional because of the smallest of things.

He groaned, leaning his head against the wooden frame of Molly Weasley's staircase. Was it possible she had moved on without him, seeking out something who understood her better than he did?

Just then, Toire's younger brother, Louis, flopped down next to him, casually fiddling with the watch on his wrist, pushing buttons to change the time.

Teddy wasn't as close to the young boy as he was to his sisters; it was partly that Louis was quieter than most of his cousins, and that he was six years younger than Teddy with nothing in common to connect the two boys.

Until now; perhaps Louis would know something about his sister that would explain why she was upset with him.

"Hey, Louis," Teddy began hesitantly, not sure how to start this conversation. It wasn't like he could just say _so tell me, Louis, is there a particular reason why your sister seems to be ignoring me? _"Is Toire okay? Is there any problems she's been mentioning that I should know about? Problems about life or me, maybe?"

He cringed, realising how childish such questions sounded, like he was an overbearing boyfriend who didn't even trust his own girl.

Besides, would Louis even care or notice how his sister had been behaving?

He was fourteen, probably too focused on school and his friends to pay attention to his older sister, who hadn't had much in common with him to begin with.

"What do you mean?" Louis asked, not looking up from his watch. "Toire is Toire; she's been the same person she was last time I saw her; maybe she's a little busier now than before, and I don't see her as often, but I don't think she's changed. And if she's been having problems, she's not mentioning any of _that _to us." The fourteen year old looked up and saw the confusion in Teddy's eyes. "I mean, I'm sure it's nothing, really. Victoire's weird all the time, anyway. I don't think you should worry or anything like that, if that's what you mean."

"It's just, she hasn't been talking to me recently, and she won't respond to my letters or anything. I think she might have even disconnected her Floo network." Teddy sighed, scrunching up his forehead. "I dunno, maybe I'm being paranoid. I'm sure she's just feeling a little down; she would tell me if something was wrong between us, wouldn't she?"

He wasn't sure why he was confiding in this young boy, who had clearly never felt true love before, not the way Teddy felt about Victoire.

"Sure." Louis said, though he didn't sound positive about it. In fact, he now seemed as confused as Teddy felt, and had gone back to fiddling with his watch, the silence hanging between them awkwardly as Teddy sat quietly, worrying. "I'm sure it's just work and life getting in the way, is all. I mean, Toire really seems to like you, a lot more than the other boys she's dated." He turned away, grumbling to himself, "and it's not like I can do anything to stop you, even if I wanted to."

"Yeah, that must be it-just life getting in the way. She _has _to still love me, she just has to." Teddy got a dreamy look on his face as Louis stood up, looking slightly bothered, like he personally thought the situation might be a little more than just things getting in the way; though, he wasn't dumb enough to tell Teddy he was pretty sure Victoire had been avoiding him because she'd found someone else to love, or something else to love.

Louis didn't have the heart to tell his sister's girlfriend that Victoire had always been that way, flitting from person to person, thing to thing, always searching for something to complete her, but never quite finding it.

He'd figure that eventually though, Teddy would. That reminded Louis….

"Oh, yeah." He said, pulling the folded piece of parchment from his pocket, handing it over. "It's from Victoire; I nearly forgot all about it until now. I think she wanted you to read it in private."

No doubt because she was breaking up with him in the letter, and she didn't want him exploding where others could see.

Louis had wanted to peek, but the letter was sealed, and Victoire would probably kill him if he did. Teddy took the parchment with shaking hands, scanning the first few sentences as Louis walked off, waiting for the moment of impact.

_Teddy, _

_Sorry I've been distant recently. Honestly, I've got no real excuse for what I've been doing recently, but I'd like to make it up to you by going out to dinner with you next week. _

_I know things have been hectic, with Christmas just around the corner, but I hope you can find the time to meet with me, so we can discuss our relationship together, and where we want to move from here. Oh, that sounds terribly ominous, doesn't it?_

_I apologise, if I've made you nervous by writing these words, but I've no other real way to put it. _

_Please, just promise you'll meet up with me at _our _café? _

_We can get the cocoa and talk, like old times. I'm sure you're mad at me for being so distant, but I want to explain when we meet up, instead of through a letter; it will be better if we're in person when we talk. _

_Love,_

_Toire_


	7. Teddy&James: Trouble

_December 20, 2013_

James was trouble, there was no denying that. He had been trouble from day one, a mischievous little boy who was always looking for things to do.

James was constantly getting into messes and arguments and fights; often times, Teddy would see him at the dinner table with a new bruise or scrape.

James liked to fight, and he liked to make trouble-it was a part of who he was, just like how Teddy was a Metamorphmagus.

James was determined to cause chaos, and it was just Teddy's luck that he was baby-sitting the eight year old today, that little mischievous glint in his brown eyes.

"Be serious, James!" Teddy all but cried, trying to catch the young boy, who only gleefully kept running around the sitting room, yelling loudly. James rushed past him, laughing loudly, and he slipped through Teddy's fingers, his sweater just skimming on Teddy's fingertips.

Teddy scowled, wishing he could just calm the young boy down, but James is just too fast, too wild, and too much trouble for him.

He couldn't help but sigh, following after him, calling out to the boy to calm down and settle.

Harry and Ginny had taken the younger children out shopping for groceries, but James hadn't wanted to go.

Why had Teddy even dared to agree to baby-sit the whirlwind of trouble that was James Potter? The entire afternoon had been a disaster, ever since the second the Potter's car had pulled out of the garage.

James had rushed off to grab as many cookies as he possibly could, and had begun yelling at the top of his voice.

And now he was running around the entire house, dipping his fingers in yellow paint and spreading his fingers across the wall as well as Teddy's shirt and hair.

"James, you've got to calm down, seriously. You're driving me insane, and I can't concentrate. Can't you behave even for just a few minutes, and let me relax? Harry and Ginny are going to be home soon and they're going to get mad when they find out that you've eaten all the cookies, and that you've painted on the walls." He sighed, not hearing the boy anywhere, and shivered. It was winter break, and the house was cold, even if he was wrapped up in a jacket. (They were supposed to have coca later that night, but James had drunken it all this morning.) "Where are you?"

"It's nobody's business where I am!" the little boy cried from his hiding spot behind the couch, and began giggling loudly, before squirming from the back of the couch and tearing up the staircase.

Teddy sighed again, leaning his head against the wall, and heard a small _sploosh _as he knocked over the yellow paint can, feeling it run over his trainers, which had been blue up until this point.

He groaned, hearing James giggling from where he was, peeking between the bars of the banister, pointing at Teddy.

"I'm going to murder you when I get ahold of you, James, do you hear me? _Murder you._" Teddy yelled up at him, but James only smirked, rushing off again somewhere upstairs. He was now out of sight, and Teddy could only hear the pounding of feet, as he trudged his way into the bathroom, trying to scrub off the yellow paint from his hair and clothes. Just his luck, Teddy thought, scowling. The paint was coming off, having quickly dried on his arms and in his hair. "Murder!" he yelled again for good measure, moving towards the staircase.

As he trudged towards the staircase, Teddy passed by the back window that led into the yard, and he paused, staring out.

The grass had gone white, frosted thickly with cold snow, making the whole place look like some sort of winter wonderland.

Teddy stared in amazement, barely noticing the pattering of not-so-quiet footsteps behind him. James had come downstairs, curious as to why Teddy wasn't still chasing him.

James came up beside the older boy, who could only point wordlessly at the cold spectacle outside. It was the first snowfall of the year.

"Look, James," Teddy whispered, pointing out the window. Snowflakes danced gracefully to the ground, and the entire scene looked like something out of a faerytale.

James came padding up behind him, just as silent, just as amazed as Teddy was. The two boys stood there for a few minutes in silence, the house settling around them.

Neither boy said a word, entranced by the snowflakes that flitted back and forth just outside their window. They stood side by side that way until the front door creaked open.

"Teddy? James? We're back," Ginny called, and James immediately scurried off from his spot, the magic faerytale broken in an instant. Ginny and Harry were carrying shopping bags, while Lily chattered on about some breakfast cereal she had gotten.

Albus had already slinked off, the quiet, elusive middle child.

Ginny did a double-take at the sight of Teddy, who was still splattered with yellow paint, and at James, who was covered in cookie crumbs.

"Yellow is _definitely _your colour," Harry said, chuckling as he scooped up the now sleeping James. Teddy scowled, wanting to march off to the bathroom to wash out his hair with a nice hot shower, grumbling about mischievous little boys who were determined to ruin his day with childish shenanigans. The magic of the first snowfall had disappeared in an instant, the two boys so quickly brought back down to the real world. "Looks like you two had fun while we were out, huh? Make a big mess, did you, James? Get into trouble?" He smiled again, but it wasn't angry smile.

"No," Teddy said nonchalantly. Harry's smile and James' cookie-covered face couldn't help but make him smile as well. "James wasn't too much trouble, actually."


	8. Teddy&Rose: Clear Skies

_April 19, 2037_

There were clear skies that day at St. Mungo's, as Teddy sat outside Arthur Weasley's room, waiting for…nothing, really. There wasn't a cloud in the sky that he could see as Teddy sat waiting for….everything, really.

His bench was empty excusing him, and he hadn't seen anyone walk past in over twenty minutes.

There was a vague babble of noise outside one of the rooms-two Healers chatting to each other-but other than that, he was completely alone, with a lovely view of the clear skies, and a sinking feeling in his heart.

Arthur Weasley, who might even now be on death's doorstep, sat calmly in a bed that was no more than sixty metres away, and he was too scared to go in.

"Is he any better?" Rose asked, settling on the bench next to him; Teddy jumped a little, already on edge from the anxiety that was making him fidget and made his hair change colours as his moods changed. "Do they know anything more yet?"

From the tension in her voice, Teddy guessed that she, too, was burnt far past her last straw would allow, mentally.

He didn't blame her-Arthur wasn't even his grandfather, and yet, he was the closest thing Teddy had to one. He could understand the pain that she ought to be feeling right now, the pain that must be so hard to keep bottled inside.

"No," he said morosely, and Rose's face fell, and she put her head in her hands.

Teddy moved an awkward arm around her, wondering if she was crying. Rose was a bit different from most girls he'd met; she hardly ever seemed to cry, or even look upset most times.

He'd heard the phrase 'emotionally stunted' thrown around before, but Rose didn't have trouble showing emotions-she just wasn't a crier, and Teddy understood that; he wasn't usually the most emotion person ever.

"I just don't want to go through this again. First Gram, then Grandpa, and now Papa. I just don't want to lose another grandparent, I don't want to go through this again. She seemed to stifle a sob. "I just don't want to do this, Teddy. I don't want wake up every morning and wonder who's next. Mum, Dad? Gramma, Hannai? Tabby?" Her voice broke then, and tears flooded Rose's eyes, pouring down her cheeks as the thought of losing her family finally kicked in.

Teddy moved in to hug her, trying to comfort the grieving woman. He understood how she felt, understood the tears in her eyes; she gasped and shuddered and cried into his arms, and Teddy knew then that the walls Rose had been building around herself were crashing down, now.

She was a mess, calling everyone several times a day, asking for updates on Arthur, checking to make sure everyone was okay.

Rose's wife, Hannai, claimed the poor woman hadn't been sleeping in days, just hunched over in their daughter's bed, making sure nothing happened to the five year old.

Arthur had gotten sick so suddenly, and no one had really expected anything-no one had suspected anything.

Sure, he was eighty-seven, and no longer as spry or energetic as he once was, but this was a man who still insisted on taking care of himself, convinced that, though he was aging, he could still manage the things he could thirty years ago.

Arthur claimed he could be still be same as before all the greyed hair and weak bones, back before he'd been talked into retiring permanently. Arthur Weasley was a strong man, and seeing him so weak had appeared to crush Rose's barriers.

Teddy had never seen her so open, so fragile.

"I'm not sure if he's going to make it, Rose," Teddy began awkwardly, knowing he was messing things up. After all, his own grandmother was still alive and well at eighty-four; Teddy hadn't know too many older people who had passed away, though he had attended Victoire's maternal grandparents funeral a few years back. "I can't make promises like that, you know. But," he gripped her hand tightly, looking at her with determination. "I promise I will be here for you, Hannai, and Tabitha, no matter what happens-whether he lives or not, I'm always going to be here to help you through it."

"Thanks," Rose said, squeezing his hand. She let out a shaky laugh, leaning against his shoulder. "You know, when we were younger, I always thought you had the answers to everything. I mean, you were the oldest, and you went to Hogwarts before anyone else I knew. I figure you were nearly as smart as the adults, at least." She laughed again, though Teddy could see her hands shaking, her lips quivering with withheld sobs. "And now? Now that we're older and we've got kids of our own? I still think you're one of the smartest guys I know, Teddy. I mean, even when you don't have an answer, you know how to make someone feel better."

"Really?" Teddy asked, surprised. He'd never seen himself as all that smart or helpful to his younger 'cousins'-mostly he'd just been behaving the way he'd expected an older brother to behave, like he cared, like he was interested. He hadn't noticed the affect he was having on these other kids' lives, hadn't noticed the way he was helping to shape and change them into the people they were today. "Thanks, I didn't know I was that important to you, Rose."

Just then, a Healer came up, clipboard in hand, and a smile on her face. The two of them stood up eagerly, hearts thumping a little bit faster as she stopped in front of them. _Was it possible? Was Arthur fine? Could they all go hope happy and still a connected family? _

The Healer was smiling broadly now at the sight of them, but Teddy didn't care; all he wanted to know was if Arthur was okay, if his grandfather was okay. He didn't want to see Rose cry ever again.

"He's fine," the Healer said. "Perfectly fine, just a little scare that comes with age. It happens as you get older, your knees get weaker, and you fall down all over the place, but Mr. Weasley should be fine. In fact-and I've told his wife already-he should be back home within two weeks; we just want to keep him for a little while to get him back in shape, and then he'll be right as rain, back on home." Teddy could've kissed her, he was so excited.

"Teddy!" Rose shrieked happily, hugging him tightly. Teddy swung her around like he used when she was a little girl, the way he now swung around his own six year old daughters. "Teddy, he's okay! He's gonna be fine, did you hear that? Papa's gonna be just fine!" She laughed and they hugged again, just so glad to be able to celebrate together.

Outside were only clear skies, and Teddy Lupin didn't have a care in the world.


	9. Teddy&Albus: Stumble

_April 3, 2015_

Albus always took the same path to and from school each day.

It was a simple shortcut-shaving off a whole two minutes and sixteen seconds from his route-and he enjoyed the ten minutes of solitude that came with walking across the brick wall that led all the way down the street.

Albus wasn't a big kid, at only 114 cm, but he had great balance, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as he walked.

Mum didn't know he took this path home, or else she would have stopped him.

After all, the wall was over three metres off the ground, and he had to clamber over trees and avoid ivy wrapped around columns to keep from tumbling.

The others thought he was reckless for walking this way every day, always saying he'd slip off one day, stumble, and hurt himself, with no one to rescue him.

But, he liked his route, liked the quiet thoughtfulness that came with his brick wall. The other kids-his brother and sister, and the others who lived in his neighbourhood-they were too loud, too boisterous. He couldn't think around them, couldn't concentrate on the world around him.

Albus was…_different_, was one way you could put it. He was quiet and curious, always taking a step back to analyze situations, considering choices.

His brother, James, and his sister, Lily, however liked to jump in head-first. They didn't look for traps or alternate choices. That was why he walked home on this wall; he didn't care about the danger, he was only interested in the peace that came with being alone.

He was only interested in the strength that came from his brick wall, never noticing the wobble in his step, or the way he seemed to sway while walking.

Albus was a strange child, even for a middle child. He blended in perfectly between his boisterous siblings, hiding on either side of the noisy bookends.

Though he had his father's dark hair-his father's emerald eyes-he was not the ball of energy and frustration that his father was.

Everyone else was loud, a burning fire; Albus was withdrawn and quiet, a glass figure who'd forgotten what it was like to fall.

He walked the same path every day home from school, brave, convinced that the glass boy could never stumble, could never break and smash into a million pieces.

After all, wasn't he brave and true, even if it wasn't always obvious?

Wasn't he strong and independent?

Wasn't that why he walked this way home, instead of sticking to the safety of the streets below. He wanted to prove to…._himself _that he was strong, that he was brave, that he was smart.

Albus, like any nine year old, believed himself to be invincible. _Here _was the glass figure that could never break, the glass that never shattered or cracked. The boy who walked three metres above the ground and never stumbled. He was brave, he was strong, and he was oh, so _foolish. _Because he was three metres above the ground, but to fall was a totally different thing.

He fell three metres-he fell to the end of the earth, and his nine year old dreams of never ending life shattered like glass.

Because Albus walked home one day-a day just like any other, for the most part-but that day, he walked home with a stumble in his step.

He laughed and walked maybe a little faster than he ought to that day, a cold one in October, but he didn't care. At home, waiting for him, was his dad, back home from a mission. At home was a warm house and lots of time to sit around and just talk.

Albus wasn't paying attention, thinking about what he'd tell his father when he saw him: he'd talk about football and how well he was doing in school.

He'd ask if Dad had heard anything about Teddy, and he'd ask for a story or two about Hogwarts, like he always did.

Albus smiled to himself as he walked across the wall, not paying attention to the ivy growing there, which had been getting thicker recently.

He stumbled across a particularly thick part, throwing his arms out to keep balanced. It didn't work.

_And he fell. _

….

Albus woke up to a firm hand gripping his, hair tickling his nose. He didn't remember much of anything, except clambering up one tree, and then another, leaves sticking from his hair and bunching in his pockets. He'd been walking home, hadn't he?

He'd been crossing the brick wall, considering to himself the different types of leaves around him, the different flowers that grew in the gardens below.

But he remembered nothing more than that, and he certainly didn't understand why he was now in his room, with a hand gripping his.

Albus looked down at the person who had his hand, seeing Teddy at the edge of his bed. The older boy was sitting, awake and alert, gripping tightly onto the nine year old's hand, his eyes flashing the same emerald green as Albus', as Harry's.

He seemed anxious, nervous, and almost twitchy as Albus' eyes fluttered down to meet the emerald orbs in front of him. Immediately, Teddy pulled his hand away, moving closer to Albus, touching his face, feeling his pulse.

Albus watched him in confusion, trying to figure out if something had happened. Had he gotten sick? _No, Al would have remembered something like that. _Was someone dead? _Why would he be in this bed, then, and not someone else? _

"Has something happened?" he asked Teddy, his voice quiet and hoarse. Teddy was watching him cautiously, like he might shatter any moment. "Has someone been hurt, Teddy? Why am I in bed? What's going on?" He was beginning to grow angry as Teddy did not answer, only watching him with a cautious gaze, his eyes occasionally dropping to the blanket that covered Albus' legs. Al frowned, trying to twitch the blanket off with his feet, but the blanket did not move.

"You fell off the wall," Teddy's voice was soft, empty of anything but strangled emotions, and that was the part that made Albus nervous. He had always seen Teddy as this brash, man-with-a-plan sort of peon, and now he looked just as lost and confused as Albus felt.

He had fallen off a wall, okay. Broken bones could be mended, couldn't they? What was the problem, what was wrong with him, that it made Teddy seem so afraid?

He didn't know, and Albus wasn't so sure he wanted to find out just then, but Al had always been curious, stumbling towards things that fascinated him, even when he knew they were dangerous. Maybe that was why he had always liked taking the possibly dangerous path every day to and from school, because he was curious, and he didn't care.

"It's not permanent, you know," Teddy explained hesitantly, but Albus had no idea what he was talking about. "The Healers say your legs should be fine within a few months, but you're going to have some trouble walking until then. You know, temporary paralysis, and eventually, when you can walk again, you'll need leg braces to help you walk. Healer Ramsey said it's a good thing Mrs. Hadley was walking that way, or you could have been alone for ages, and they couldn't have worked on your legs so quickly."

"I'm paralysed?" he asked Teddy, because it was the only part that had made sense amongst all the rambling. "I can't walk anymore?" He was thinking about how much he loved to run, how much he loved to climb trees. Did they allowed disabled people into Hogwarts? What if he couldn't get into Hogwarts now, and he'd be stuck at home, like a Squib? "What's going to happen to me now, Teddy? What am I going to do if I can't walk or run or play? I want to go to Hogwarts, what's going to happen?" His voice had risen in pitch as he panicked, but Teddy only laid a calm hand on Al's shoulder.

"It's only temporary, Healer Ramsey said. You'll be fine enough by the time you're ready for Hogwarts, don't worry. You won't be able to walk for a while-it's going to be at least until next year before you can consider even taking the leg braces off-but you'll be fine. You're not even really paralysed, Al. You're just in shock right now, your legs are sore and are having difficulty functioning. You stumbled, Al, and I wasn't there to catch you." He looked away, as if hiding tears. "I'm going to be there for you next time. You're never going to stumble again."

Albus reached out, taking his hand.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall," he murmured quietly. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. And all the King's horses, and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty together again. That's what you always say, right? That's how the story goes? What if I can't be fixed, Teddy?"

He was shattered glass, a ruined picture, with messy black hair, and emerald eyes, and two legs that weren't working. He had stumbled, and he had messed up.

What _if_ they couldn't fix him? What if he was destined to remain broken for the rest of his life, and there was nothing they could do to help him, just like in the poem?

"I'm going to be there, Albus," Teddy said again, firmly. "You're _never _going to stumble again."

_And Teddy meant it. _


	10. Teddy&Lily: Spiderweb

These were the fractures in their life, the cracks, and the teeny-tiny spider web-thin lines that separated what_ happened _from _what could have happened. _

The little slivers of life, represented by choices and decisions that had been made, and then made again. She had taken one path, and he another.

Long, winding paths that would slowly separate them over the years, pulling apart like tugging at a spider web until it pulled apart.

Eventually, they'd get pulled too far, and the web would get stretched too thin, and then where would they be?

They'd chosen their path, and all that was left was to take the first step.

….

_February 18, 2022_

Teddy had decided to go on a trip to Bulgaria, part of a special team of Aurors sent as body-guards to the Minister of Magic.

It had been a big deal, being one of the chosen few deemed worthy enough to go, and he wasn't the sort to look down his nose at any chances like this.

After all, he might never be asked to do something quite so _exciting _ever again in his entire life.

His superiors had recommended him as more than valuable, and all he had to do was _sign _here, and off he'd be for an adventure far, far away.

He was twenty-four, and ready to _do _something with his life.

Lily had decided not to see him off, fourteen and angry.

Why was he leaving her behind, why did he get to go on grand adventures, but she was stuck at Hogwarts, just a measly little third year, practically a baby in his eyes?

Teddy had always promised to never leave her, and now he was married to Torie, and he was going to be in Bulgaria for six months, maybe a year.

She was angry at him, angry at whoever had decided to take away her big brother and leave her behind at Hogwarts. After all, when would her adventure come? When would she be allowed to go off and see the world, and _do _something with her life?

"_A year,_" he had told her confidently, kissing her cheek as he prepared to Apparate off to the train station. Mum and Dad were seeing him off-Albus and James, too-but Lily remained behind, sulking. Her favourite brother was leaving, taking with him her favourite cousin, Torie. "_It'll only be a year or so, Lils. A year, maybe two, but no more. Why the long face, Flower, why so glum? I'll be back before you know it. You'll see, time will fly while you're at school-why, you'll hardly even notice I'm gone." _

But she did notice, and it hurt terribly to know she couldn't write a letter; there was nowhere to send it to, after all, as this mission was meant to be done as quietly as possible.

She had remained behind in her room while everyone else left to see Teddy and Torie off, throwing things, smashing pictures and eventually sinking to the floor, clinging to a pillow and crying. It wasn't fair that he got to go off and have adventures, and leave her behind. It wasn't fair that he was allowed to guide her through her life, only to just leave her behind, hear-broken and confused.

Lily had at one point thought she might be in love with the blue-haired Metamorphmagus, but she knew now it was the sort of love that came with spending so much time with one person, the sort of love that came with making one person your _rock_, your _best friend. _

And he had left her behind.

….

_August 17, 2025_

She painted all day long, glad to be _done _with her sixth year at Hogwarts, glad to finally be back home. Lily wasn't looking forward to the quickly approaching September 1st, just twenty days away-it seemed like her sixth year had just ended, and now her very last was speedily approaching. Lily wasn't the best artist (that would probably be Louis or Roxy) but she could paint decently enough, pictures of things like dogs or food.

Today, though, she'd been painting a picture of spider webs, little delicate things that glimmered in the sunlight.

Lily wasn't sure why the webs fascinated her, why she felt drawn to collect them, capture them in her artwork.

Maybe the spider webs reminded her of life, always so fragile, so easily torn. Lily wasn't afraid of spiders-no, fear was never a word she would have used-but something about them set her off.

Maybe it was the eight legs, the beady eyes, the way they scurried across the wall, peeking into corners. But Lily wasn't afraid of spiders, not like Rose was, who shrieked and ran away at the sight of them.

She loved painting spider webs, always hiding them in each painting she did, a little inside joke just for her. Well, and Teddy too, but he wasn't around to laugh about it.

No, Teddy was still in Bulgaria, still just too far, just too deep into his mission to bother contacting her. _Two fucking years_, he'd promised her, and that had been in February of 2022, just after her fourteenth birthday, when he had started packing for the trip. He had left later that June, taking Torie with him.

It was August of 2025 now, and she was seventeen, ready to move on, ready to just _forget _about the bastard who'd left her behind.

Because their relationship was as fragile as a spider-web now, and she wasn't sure if it was the sort she was interested in painting.

After all, the thinner the web, the easier it was to pull apart, and three years in Bulgaria was _more _than enough to spread their relationship thinner than a string.

Lily sighed, setting her paintbrush down. She was too distracted to focus on her painting, too angry to do anything but swirl her paintbrush around in dirty paint water, scowling.

Teddy had been gone for three years-_three fucking years now_-and she wasn't even sure if he was still alive.

Had that been why he and Torie married so quickly the December before they left; had they known even then that the two of them wouldn't even be around for a proper wedding?

Three fucking years, and not a single letter. How old was he now? Twenty-seven? And she was seventeen, taller and slimmer and more grown-up than the gangly fourteen year old he'd left.

Would Teddy recognise her, or would she be nothing more than a stranger to him when he finally came back, if he ever came back at all?

Teddy had always been her favourite brother, even if he wasn't technically her brother at all. He was ten years older than she, and Lily had seen Teddy as a source of comfort, and of wisdom.

After all, he had been in Hogwarts since she was an infant-surely, he must have learned something in the nearly ten years that he existed without her.

And Teddy was just warmer than anyone else, more considering, the self-appointed guider of the next generation.

He was smarter and less reckless than James, who was usually only trying to live in the moment, causing mayhem wherever he wanted.

Teddy was better at comforting than Albus, who lived in his own little world of barely-spoken problems.

Lily had always loved Teddy best, even though she didn't think she'd ever admit it. He was the reason she'd gotten into Quidditch, the reason she hadn't given up on painting, even though Lily wasn't the best at it.

He was the one she went to for homework problems and people problems.

Teddy was the one who held her hand and taught her where to go.

Teddy was the one who helped build up the fragile spider web that was their relationship, and he was the one who'd stretched it too far when he left for Bulgaria, when he left Lily behind.

Didn't he know how much it hurt to be left behind?

….

Teddy opened the door quietly, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the brass doorknob. He hadn't been back in England for three whole years.

Things at the Potter house seemed to have changed immensely. Instead of the old motorcycle that Harry usually kept in his garage, there was a big silver truck.

The shrubs had been taken out, replaced by a bed of marigolds. The house had been painted over, he could tell; these were all little differences, not very big changes, but they reminded him of the painful separation between him and his family.

He wondered how Lily would react when she saw him-if she even wanted to see him. She'd be…._seventeen_? Merlin, he could still remember the little fourteen year old running after him on wobbly legs, begging him not to go.

Lily would be an adult now, still with the face of a child, but her childhood was drawing to a close-the real world was just around the corner for her.

No doubt she'd probably be angry when she saw him, devastated. He would be mad, too, if she had left him for three years and then not been able to say a word.

Merlin….she didn't know about the baby, Remus, who had been born in Bulgaria. Lily didn't know about all the new stories he had for her, or the presents, or the fact that he had put up about a thousand of her painting all throughout their flat, as a way of reminding Teddy of his little flower.

She didn't know about the letters he'd written every day, the ones he'd burnt, the ones he kept locked away in a trunk.

Lily didn't know about how much he'd missed her, wishing he could just send _one _letter, call her just _one _time. She didn't know how much it hurt to have been physically separated from his little sister.

They were like a spider web, being pulled apart, being pulled so thin, until the two ends were stretched to their limit-he didn't know his little sister anymore. She wouldn't recognise him.

Lily didn't know how much it had hurt to leave her behind.


	11. Teddy&Hugo: Words

_September 14, 2017_

Hugo had never been good with words-a shy boy with a stutter, he hated public speaking and presentations.

His parents did not understand, but at least, after a long battle, accepted, his aversion to speaking and the lengths he went to avoid verbal communication.

("After all," his mum had explained to teachers and principals and counsellors time and time again, "it's not that he _can't _speak, it's that he chooses not to. He's no different from any other child, really.")

Besides, Hugo hid well behind hand gestures and the written language. Psychiatrists had been visited one after the other, all trying to crack the code and open Hugo's mouth.

But Hugo, silent Hugo, continued not to talk, not when he could let his writing do that for him. He did not need to say "I am hungry", when he could feel so safe writing out _I'd like a sandwich, Mum__. _

He knew it put pressure on his parents, and he knew it just made life more stressful for everyone he interacted with, but a pen was the only way Hugo could explain how he felt-he just couldn't get the words out of his mouth, not the way others could.

They could talk, but Hugo could not, and so he made do with the words that jumped out on a page. There was nothing he could not say that he could not write down, after all.

The others just didn't understand him, they didn't see the world the same way he did.

Maybe because he didn't speak often, Hugo had learned how to _see_ things normal people didn't usually see. He could tell when his mum was angry and his dad just didn't understand. He knew when Rose was struggling under her full course load, but didn't want people to think she couldn't handle it.

He knew when Uncle Harry went all quiet, it was because he was thinking, not because he was sad. Because Hugo didn't speak, he _saw. _

And what he saw was a young man who seemed to be teetering on the edge of sorrow, a young man who stayed silent, and a mask on his face, hiding the way he really felt from everyone else; everyone except Hugo, who saw everything.

Teddy Lupin was sprawled across Hugo's grandmum's rug, supposedly asleep, though Hugo knew different. He wasn't very close to Teddy-after all, Teddy was loud and adventurous, while Hugo was quiet and shy.

But Hugo saw a young man who was not asleep, merely trying to keep himself together, and he saw down next to the sprawling boy, notebook in hand.

He recorded his conversations in the old notebook, wanting a way of communicating where he didn't have to speak.

Most people found it odd, but Teddy only opened his eyes and smiled at Hugo as he settled next to the young man, beginning to write.

_You've got a mask on_, he told the nineteen year old, handing Teddy his beat-up notebook. _It's a happy mask, and you're hiding something that isn't happy. Why've you got a mask on, Teddy? Is it because you miss Victoire, now that she's at school and you aren't? Is that why you're so sad and pretending? _The older boy gave him a shocked look, surprised and uncertain of how Hugo could know such a thing. He had faked the happy look on his face for days now, trying to pretend like he wasn't upset about seeing off his girlfriend, not being able to see her until Christmas.

_You've been sad, haven't you, Teddy?_Hugo asked the older boy, and Teddy nodded, still shocked. He didn't know this little child very well, the quiet entity that existed alongside his louder sister, but looking at Hugo's brown eyes, he saw a little boy who noticed _everything_, even if he couldn't tell anyone.

_You don't use your words, Teddy, but I know how you feel. Sometimes, I put on a mask as well, when I got sad. Sometimes, my mum and dad put on masks when they don't want me to see how much they hurt-but I see it. I can always see it when people hide with masks._

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, Teddy picking at a hole in his sleeve as he thought.

"Why don't you talk, Hugo?" Teddy asked him suddenly. "Why don't you ever speak to anyone? I know you can-I've seen you use your words before-but you always seem too shy to speak, and you just write in that notebook all the time. Is it because of the stutter, or is there something else that keeps the words from coming out?"

Hugo shrugged, as if he had never really thought about it before. It was as if he hadn't really ever considered staying silent-he just _did_, because it was easier, and because he was Hugo, the silent one.

_Sometimes, writing down my words is just easier to do. People don't misunderstand me when I write, and I can't mess up this way. My words make sense written down, a lot more than when I talk. After all, I can lie about how I feel if I spoke, and if I spoke all the time like everyone else, my head would be full of the words I've said, and not the things I've heard others say. I'm shy, Teddy, but I'm fine this way. I'm fine being quiet if it means I can see past everyone else's masks. _

Hugo got up then, smiling shyly at the older boy, who was still lounging on the rug, confused. He had never considered the fact that his head was so full of the words he had spoken, instead of listening to everyone else.

And here was this little nine year old boy-the silent child-who understood people more than Teddy could ever hope to.

Yes, he was shy, and yes he was silent, but Hugo knew how to use his voice, even if it had to be written down.

He didn't have the same need for words that everyone else did.


	12. Teddy&Roxanne: Hide

Did you hear that?

_Shhh. _

Do you hear it?

_Shhh, I said. _

But it's up there, it's everywhere, and it scares me.

_Quiet. The darkness might get you. _

I don't like the darkness.

_Shhh. _

….

_August 11, 2014_

"Teddy!" the little girl cried, running towards the tall boy with the electric blue hair. Her dark pigtails swung back and forth as she ran into his arms, sobbing. "Teddy, please make it go away!" Her face revealed the terror in her eyes as Teddy bent down to pick her up. She was shaking like a leaf, and Teddy wondered what it was that could have scared the young girl so terribly.

"What's wrong, Roxy? Has someone hurt you?" he asked, looking her over for blood or bruises. Roxanne didn't seem to have any visible marks on her except for the tear stains running down her face, and Teddy wondered if maybe the little girl had gotten scared of a noise or a tapping sound. She was four, and wont to do so, when it was dark and she'd had a bad dream.

"It's so dark in my room, Teddy, and it scares me." She said, sniffling. "It's so dark, and I can't move the curtains, and Lily said if I couldn't be quiet, I'd have to leave. But I just _couldn't _be quiet, I was so scared. It's a lot darker here at Gram's than it is at my house-I don't like it. I don't _like _darkness." She hid her face in his shoulder, sobbing loudly and trembling in his arms.

"Do you want me to go get rid of the darkness for you, Roxy? We can fight it off together, like we do with the dragons. Remember that, remember how brave you were? Oh, no, no. Don't cry, Rox," for she had begun to do exactly that, big heavy tears that made him wet. But Teddy didn't really mind, he just hugged her closer. "Please don't cry. Don't you want to fight off the monsters with me, Roxy?"

"I want to hide," she said, still crying. "I want to hide, I'm too scared. That's what everyone else says. They say that I'm the baby, that I'm a little old crybaby who can't do anything. I'm always crying, and Fred says it's on account of me being a silly little girl." She took several big gulps of air, her eyes wide with fright and just a hint of anger.

"I'll hide with you," Teddy said, setting her down on Mrs. Weasley's sofa, and grabbing one of the many heavy blankets that were always sitting around the Burrow. "We can hide together in here, and we'll be safe." Roxy gave him a disbelieving stare, and he grinned to himself, wrapping the blanket around them tightly. "I'm a little nervous about all this dark, too, Rox. Maybe even a little scared."

"You, scared?" she asked, amazed. She'd never met a big kid who was afraid of the dark-her own brother, Freddie, claimed that nightlights (which was what she usually slept with) were for babies and little kids. "I can protect you, Teddy." She said, snuggling closer. "We can hide with each other, and I'll protect you so you can be safe."

….

Is it still there?

_It's always there. It's darkness, and it never leaves. _

I don't like it, make it go away.

_You can't get rid of darkness. _

I hate it! I hate the darkness.

_Then hide. Hide from it-that's all you can truly do. _

….

_September 3, 2020_

"What are you doing, Roxy?" Teddy asked the young girl, who was sitting quietly in a tree, wearing a faded hoodie and shorts, her feet bare. She was tucked quietly between two thick branches, almost hidden by leaves. Teddy wouldn't have noticed her, but for the abandoned trainers dropped on the ground below her. "Aren't you cold? It's October, and you've barely got anything on."

"I'm fine." She mumbled, not looking down. Teddy sighed, clambering into the tree. Roxy was eleven now, though still as slender as she had been as a younger girl; her dark hair fell into ringlets around her face, hiding her copper-coloured eyes. "I like it up here, really. It's quiet and peaceful." Teddy, who was twenty-two and not as flexible as before, struggled to maintain his grip on the slippery branches.

"You look upset, Rox. Is everything okay? Those boys at school aren't bullying you, right?" he asked her, swinging onto the branch across from hers, giving Roxanne a concerned look. She seemed sad, and Teddy knew that Roxanne usually only hid up here when she was upset, like when she was five, and Freddie had gone off to Hogwarts, leaving her alone. Suddenly, everything clicked, and Teddy peered at her closely. "Is it because you're the only one left?"

Roxanne looked up at him, startled, her eyes wide. Teddy could see she'd been crying, and he wanted to move to comfort the poor girl.

She was the youngest of them all, always waiting to get to Hogwarts, watching as her cousins left her one by one.

And now, Roxy was eleven, and she _still _couldn't go to Hogwarts, the unfortunate girl with a September birthday. Teddy recalled how upset she had been at her last birthday.

"I just wish I could go with them," she said, balling her fists up, her voice tight. "I want to be a _part _of what they have, and I never get to. It's always "Oh, you're too young" or "you'll understand when your older". They're keeping me in the dark, and I _hate _it. It's so stupid, how they won't tell me about the sorting, because it's meant to be _so _impressive. I just want to go with them, and be with my cousins. "I'm so alone, though! Everyone else is grown up, or growing up, and they've left me, the stupid baby. Why can't I ever do that, going on adventures like Louis, or being successful like Molly? Why do I always have to be the baby?"

"Sometimes, that's just the way it is, Rox. Sometimes, you've got to be the oldest, the most mature and responsible, always feeling like there's this pressure on you; sometimes, you're the youngest, with everyone excluding you and picking you. It sucks, I know, always being in the dark about everything, being the last to know anything. But, I'll tell you this, Roxanne Weasley, I will _always _be here to bring some light to your darkness. I'm not letting you hide anymore."

….

Oh, I feel so alone here.

_You're never alone, you've got me. _

Even when it's so dark?

_Especially then. I'm here to protect you. _

I hate the darkness.

_I am here to bring the light. _


	13. Victoire&Molly: Be Prepared

_July 20, 2014_

Molly hadn't wanted to go to the funeral, too afraid that she'd stick out like a sore thumb, even amongst all her equally redheaded family.

After all, she was the only one who hadn't reacted to Uncle Charlie's death, the only one who wasn't wandering around with tears in her eyes, wondering _how did this happen? _

It wasn't that she didn't miss her uncle-Uncle Charlie wasn't the sort of person one could ever really forget, with his prominent standing in the family, even if he was always in Romania, separate from them.

No, Molly missed her uncle very much, but for some reason, she had found herself empty of all emotion, feeling nothing, only emptiness. She was drowning in the emptiness.

Mum and Dad had left her behind with questioning glances, taking silly little Lucy with them, as Lucy wiped away her tears, asking why Molly couldn't come along.

Molly couldn't explain why, she couldn't find the words to explain that she was sad, but there was no emotions inside of her.

_("Typical Ravenclaw," Dominique had snarled at her, scowling down at the redheaded girl. "Too wrapped up in yourself to ever truly feel anything.) _

She had wanted to be like the others, wanted to be able to show her emotions on her sleeve, instead of keeping them bottled up, like she always did.

("_Don't bother with _Molly_, if it's sympathy that you're looking for," Dominique said to the younger cousins, her words cruel. "She's too smart for her own good, too busy being the smart little Ravenclaw to ever give a damn about the rest of us.") _

Molly was lying quietly, silently on the rug that was in her grandmother's sitting room, all alone while the rest of the family stood outside in the hot, summer rain, wearing their black frocks and reminiscing about a man gone too soon.

(Isn't that what they always said if you died of anything other than old age? What age truly defined _too soon_?)

She hadn't said a word since the last person left the Burrow, hadn't made a sound since Dominique's cruel, angry comments about how she couldn't feel a thing.

But Molly didn't really mind the quiet house, where no one else was around to critique her or criticize her for anything she had or hadn't done

. She wasn't prepared to go outside and face her family, face the judgmental world of people who just didn't understand.

"Are you okay, Molly?" someone asked, and she felt the warmth of another body curling up on the rug, felt strands of soft, silky hair wrap around Molly's hands. She opened her eyes briefly, seeing the curious blue eyes of her eldest cousin, Victoire, who was really just a year older than Molly herself, but already seemed to be so grown-up and wise compared to silly (_"Aren't you supposed to be so smart, Molly? Why don't you know just everything, Molly the Ravenclaw?"_) Molly. "You didn't come along with Lucy today….I thought maybe something had happened to you, maybe you were too sad to come or something. I wanted to check up on you."

"I'm not too sad," Molly whispered, still face down on the rug, breathing in the smells of forty-five years in a well-cleaned house. Victoire gave her a disbelieving look, and she scooted closer to her cousin so that they were shoulder to shoulder.

Molly wasn't sure why this pretty girl had come back in to check on her; Molly and Victoire had very little in common, other than a shared lineage, and a shared surname.

Molly was smart and always angry, but Victoire seemed to only be able to float on the gentlest of breezes from place to place, only occasionally dropping back down to earth for a brief moment. Certainly nothing ever seemed to bother _Victoire _very much.

"You look sad, Molly, you've looked sad all morning. Is it Uncle Charlie? Is it….is it what Dominique said to you earlier? If it was, Molly, I can talk to her about it-she just doesn't understand how you feel, Molly, she doesn't understand that we don't all mourn the same way. I know you're mourning, Molly, but you're not like the rest of us. We're noisy, we use tears and loud, blubbering voices and hugs to explain how we feel. But you, Molly? You're quiet and withdrawn-that doesn't mean you were any more prepared for this than we were, it doesn't mean you were any less affected than anyone else in the family."

Molly gave her a startled look, surprised the older girl understood how she was feeling so well, in such simple words.

"You know, Molly, my mum used to sing a song to me and my siblings when we were younger. It isn't a happy song, not really, but if I sang to you, do you think it might help you feel better?" Victoire asked, looking curiously at her younger cousin.

Molly could only shrug-she wasn't sure how she felt about singing right now, not even if it meant listening to Victoire's lovely voice.

But Victoire only smiled, and began humming a slow song that immediately seemed to reverberate in Molly's ears, echoing throughout her whole being as she listened, enraptured by the sweet sounds coming from her cousin.

She could only lay still and listen, unable to do anything more, frozen to the spot by the beauty she was hearing, the sheer emotion pouring from Victoire's lips.

"_Be prepared, little angel, be prepared. _

_Darker times await you, little angel, best you be prepared. _

_Be prepared, little angel, it only gets harder from here. _

_Be prepared, be prepared, don't be so scared, little angel. _

_Smile big, little angel, smile big, my dear, my dear, and my dear. _

_Smile big, don't be scared, and stand tall. _

_You stand tall, taller than them all, and smile, because there's nothing that can hurt you, _

_Nothing at all, little angel, so I say to you, Smile, little angel, and stand tall. _

_Darker times await you, little angel, But you don't care, you don't care. _

_My brave little angel, be prepared. _

_Though it hurts, though it rains hard every day, you are strong, you are strong. _

_Nothing can knock you down, little angel, little angel. _

_Be prepared, my brave little angel, you._

_Be prepared, be prepared." _

There was silence in the house for a long time after Victoire had finished singing, the chords still vibrating in the air.

They lay on the rug together, holding hands, the room silent except for Victoire's humming.

Molly didn't look up from where she lay, face down on the floor, smelling the cleaner her grandmother usually used to clean the fading rug.

She was smiling to herself, letting Victoire's soft voice wash over, her eyes fluttering, not even noticing as the clock ticked by.

Molly had cried for the first time in ages, wiping away silent tears as she felt Victoire's cold fingers in hers. She leaned her head against Victoire's blond one, trying to wipe away the stinging wetness in her eyes.

"Sorry. It's prettier in French," Victoire apologized, and Molly had to choke back laughter as Vic gave her a half-smile. They lay together on the rug, laughing for a few minutes more.

"Are you going to be okay now, Molly?" Victoire asked after a while, and though her voice was quiet and sudden, she sounded filled with concern, giving Molly's hand a gentle squeeze as she spoke, staring at Molly's deep hazel eyes. "Are you feeling better now?"

She used her free hand to wipe Molly's tears away, and it no longer felt like she was with her cousin, who was just fourteen; she could see the wonderful mother Victoire would grow up to be, so caring, so considerate.

Molly smiled at her cousin, content to just lay on the rug next to her for the next few hours, until everyone returned from the wedding.

She didn't feel so bad now about not crying when she had found out Uncle Charlie had died. She didn't feel so wrapped up in Dominique's words (_"Too smart to be a human, too smart to understand emotions-she must be a robot!"_) because at least there was someone around who could make her feel better.

"Are you ready to face the world now, Molly?" Victoire asked in a comforting tone that reminded Molly of Uncle Charlie, and the way he had always been so willing to dole out hugs to all of his little nieces and nephews whenever they needed it.

"Be prepared, my brave little angel," Molly murmured, getting to her feet, and followed Victoire out the front door, out to where the funeral was being held.

Her eyes were a little wetter now than they had been, but she was smiling softly, holding tightly to Victoire's hand as the older, blond girl led her to the congregating flock of Weasleys.

They both remained silent as they came up short, and Molly smiled at Dominique, who only gave her shocked look, seeing the normally emotionless girl join her noisier, more dramatic family outside.

Molly was prepared to face the world now.

At least, it felt that way.


	14. Victoire&Dominique: Fireworks

_May 2, 2038_

Victoire took her son's hand, leading the young boy through their backyard. The Lupin house was brightly lit, with candles floating everywhere, just above people's heads.

The trees had been covered in faery lights, and someone had turned on a radio, which was blasting out a Cauldron Hopper's song that she vaguely recognised. Remus stuck close to his mother, clutching her hand as they waded through a crowd of people.

She waved at co-workers and at family, greeting a few by name and occasionally stopping to chat, but Victoire was looking for someone in particular, someone she had yet to see.

Dominique, Victoire's younger sister, had promised she would be coming to see Victoire on her thirty-eigth birthday.

The two sisters had been distant over the past few years, ever since Dominique ran away to France shortly after graduating, and Victoire was anxious to see her sister once more.

Just then, the sky lit up with fireworks, and she heard her uncle George laugh loudly, setting off another one of his rockets, which exploded into millions of dancing colours and lights.

Remus stopped, gawking up at the sky. He was a teenager, and already painfully beautiful, with light, golden hair and honey-coloured eyes.

There was another flash of light behind them as more fireworks went off, and Remus shrieked excitedly, running off to chase the colourful flames.

Victoire started after him, trying to find the boy amongst the taller people who obscured her view. Fireworks flashed and boomed, and Victoire's head was spinning as she glanced around for her son, anxious.

Remus was usually a very nervous boy, even for fourteen, and he didn't like to be separated from his mum or dad. Victoire was always worried about him, her first son, and with his health being what it was…

"Victoire!" she heard, and Victoire's attention was torn away from searching for her son to see a woman with long blonde hair lean over and scoop up a giggling little girl. She was probably a few years younger than Victoire, but looked familiar, and Victoire gasped, walking over determinedly.

"Domi? Domi, is that you?" she cried, rushing over to the woman, who turned with confusion in her blue eyes. Victoire hadn't seen her sister in fifteen years, but she looked even more beautiful than the last time they'd seen each other.

Though the two women were only one-eigth Veela, they both had been born with their mother's good looks and grace, which was probably part of the reason why there was a rather attractive man standing not too far from Dominique's side, as if guarding her protectively.

"Torie?" Dominique asked, her eyes widening as she saw her sister rushing over. "Torie, oh, hello." She didn't seem as happy to see Victoire as Victoire was to see her. "Did you miss me, Torie?" Dominique asked, and her blue eyes searched Victoire's anxiously.

Dominique, at thirty-five, was the younger sister, always looking up to Victoire, feeling like she had to live up to this older girl's reputation, that she had to also create her own path separate from Victoire. It was part of the reason why she'd run off to France, where she wasn't _Victoire's sister, _but rather just another individual living their life.

But now, back in England, in the Lupin's back yard, all her old fears of not being good enough were rushing back.

"Of course I missed you, Domi," Victoire said, moving to hug her sister. Dominique was stiff, confused, but she allowed the hug, awkwardly placing her arms around Victoire. Remus squirmed from his aunt's grasp, running off towards his great-uncle George. "It's been too long since I last saw you, much too long, in fact. You were just eighteen the last time I saw you-barely a woman-and now, you are all grown up and even prettier than I remember!" It had been a long time since the two of them had seen each other, Dominique in France and Victoire first in England, then in Bulgaria, then coming back just last year. "How have you been since I last saw you?"

"Much too long, I suppose." Dominique said nervously, as another firework popped and sparkled above them. The thirty-five year old was wearing a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders, and she was glancing around as though waiting for someone. The man next to her leaned over to murmur something in her ear in French, and she waved him off, babbling something back to him quickly. Seeing Victoire's questioning glance, she shrugged. "That's Ciel. We met about thirteen years back, when he was rushed into St. Brébeuf for a silly accident." Victoire continued to look at her in startled curiosity, having never really noticed this romantic side to her little sister. "We're happy together, Ciel and I. Very happy, actually," Dominique held up her hand, revealing a gleaming t ring.

"I'm…."Victoire breathed in and out slowly, watching Ciel leave, her brow furrowed. He had been staring around with widened eyes, and Victoire knew enough French-though she'd hadn't been practicing lately- to know that Ciel was clearly a Muggle, and one who looked to be about ten years older than Dominique, with a few grey hairs popping up here and there, as well as just a tired look that came with age. "I'm sure the two of you are very happy together, but….Dominique? Isn't he a little…" Victoire trailed off, blushing, and she glanced at the ground, not meeting Dominique's gaze. The younger girl scowled, moving closer to her sister.

"What, Torie? Is he a little too pretty for me, a little too older looking? A little too poor, is that what you're saying? Is it because he's a Muggle? Please, enlighten me, dear sister, what problem are you referring to, because, believe me, I've heard them all. No one seems to approve of the two of us-he's too old, he's a Muggle, he's divorced with kids-but no one's yet to ask how _I _feel about all this. No one's yet asked if I care about all the things that 'separate' us, as if there are boundaries that we're supposed to maintain, like cows that can't climb over a fence to get to the other pasture." She scowled at Victoire, her fists balled.

"That's not what I meant, Domi, it's just-"

"Happy birthday, Torie. I'm glad to see you're just the same as you were when I left," Dominique said angrily, walking off to find Ciel, who had melted into the crowd. Victoire was left behind, with Remy tugging on her shirt, begging for her to go set of a firework with him.

She nodded, taking his little hand, and they wandered in the direction of Uncle George and Uncle Ron, who had a small crowd of children circled around them, gazing in amazement.

She didn't look back in the direction that her sister was leaving, not wanting to face the possibility that this was the last time she'd be seeing her sister.

Victoire wiped away a tear, and the fireworks popped and flashed above her.

_Happy birthday to me. _


	15. Victoire&Fred: Heartache

_May 29, 2016_

Victoire felt her heart ache as she watched Teddy walking by with his friends, oblivious to the sixteen year old girl who peered behind a corner at him.

She watched with a sort of tugging longing that wanted to drag her over to him-Gryffindor courage might have been another way of describing it.

Her heart longed to pull her over to him, her tongue desperately wanted to confess her feelings to him, but her feet remained firmly lodged in their spot.

She sighed, watching him turn a corner, walking out of her sight, and her heart twanged, craving for the boy she could not have.

Although she knew it was silly-Victorie could have probably had a handful of dates to choose from at any given time-the sixteen year old couldn't help but wish maybe she wasn't so invisible to the seventh year.

For her sixteenth birthday just three weeks ago, he'd patted her on the head and given her some Hogsmeade chocolate, treating her like she was still a little kid who didn't know enough to hang out with him.

As Victorie turned away, she spotted her younger cousin, Fred, leaving his own conversation with Laura Drunnings, who was a fourth year, but was blushing like a first year on their first date.

Fred, even at twelve, was a natural charmer, and he was just becoming aware of it, too. With his wit, his good looks, his curled up smile that revealed the dimples in his face, there were already girls more than willing to fall in love with the mischievous young boy, the one who would knowingly smile at girls, anyone from a first year all the way up to the eighteen year olds, laughing when they shyly smiled back, hoping to invite him over for a chat.

Fred was a romanticizer at heart, and he knew it, using it to his advantage whenever he could.

(There were rumours that part of the reason he was the only second year on the Gryffindor Quidditch team was because the sixth year captain, Dana Lopez, had been promised a kiss if she said yes. There was no actual proof, but the fact that Dana's boyfriend had broken up with her a week and a half later didn't help matters.)

But he was also one of Victoire's favourite cousins, and one of the few of the younger bunch that she felt comfortable talking to, and as he spotted her, Fred waved, wandering over.

Fred glanced curiously at the longing look in his cousin's eyes, tipping his head as she looked over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to appear, someone to take her away on some sort of grand adventure.

Fred still remembered when the two of them had been younger, running around Grandma Weasley's big backyard, pretending to be a valiant knight and a princess in need of help. (Victoire, who insisted on maintaining the image of a strong, tough girl, would never have played such a game for anyone else but him.)

Out of all his cousins, Victoire was one of his favourites, just behind James, because she didn't seem to mind the pranks he pulled, or the jokes he made.

But now, seeing her look so desperate, he wanted only to hug her and ask what was wrong-forget the fact that it was entirely against his nature to do such a thing.

"Is something wrong, Victoire?" he asked her.

"It's Teddy," Victorie said, sighing quietly, and Fred knew exactly what she meant. He had seen the way Victoire looked at Teddy Lupin, and he had seen the way her eyes followed his everyone move, filled with some strange longing for a boy who didn't seem to love her back.

Fred didn't understand it, but then again, he was twelve, and he didn't really understand much about relationships of any kinds.

"He's always with his friends, laughing and joking with them all day long-he hasn't got the time for me, anymore. Besides, his friends aren't always very nice to me, and I don't want to be around them, but I _do _want to be with Teddy." She sighed again, looking down at the ground in annoyance, her voice dropping to a mere whisper.

As Victoire spoke about her unrequited feelings for Teddy, her eyes sparkled, and if Fred hadn't known better, he would have thought his older cousin was under the influence of a particularly powerful bout of Amortentia, as she smiled and talked about the boy that her heart ached and craved for.

"I just wish he'd notice me the way I want him to, instead as just another silly little girl that follows him around all the time. It's like….it's like there's this _aching _in my heart that just won't go away when I'm around him."

"You'll be fine, though," Fred said, remembering what his mum had said last summer when he'd fallen out of their apple tree. He'd cried for a long time because his arm hurt, but his mum had only sat by his side, holding him tight as she wrapped up his arm, giving him several potions. "It hurts now, but you'll get better. You just need to move on with your life, instead of sitting in the moment, wallowing in pain-that's why it hurts so much, because you're too focused on how you feel about him, and you're not paying attention to what you _do _have in life." He smiled at her, and she smiled back weakly. "If you just accept that he doesn't love you right now-because he might, one day-and move on with things, your heart won't ache so much."

"When did you get so smart?" she asked, chuckling lightly, but she seemed happier for what he had said, and Fred couldn't help but feel a little bit better himself, glad to be able to help his cousin out. Victoire looked away briefly, then met his glance again, looking slightly embarrassed. "Thanks for that, Freddie. I think I needed to be reminded that Teddy's not the most important thing in my life right now-he shouldn't even be in the top ten most important things, considering I've got O.W.L.s next week." She laughed, and Fred laughed with her, infected by her bright attitude. "You're pretty smart, you know, Fred," Victoire ruffled his hair. "I mean, for a twelve year old boy, you're real sensitive and caring. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Fred said, and the two of them stood there for a few minutes in comfortable silence, Fred wondering if he should bother mentioning the ache in his own heart when it came to the girl he loved, or at least whom he thought he loved, a third year named Madeline.

But right now probably wasn't the time for that, not when Victoire seemed to be so sensitive herself; she must have been sensitive, emotionally, if the sixteen year old hadn't had the sense to get over Teddy Lupin. Fred wasn't overly fond of the turquoise-haired boy, not like most of his cousins, who seemed to love Lupin in various ways.

But did Victorie seem to care for him, and Fred didn't want to upset her by mentioning that he thought Teddy was sort of a git who rarely looked at anything past his next big adventure.

Fred took her hand, blushing awkwardly as he did, hand sweaty and dirty from Quidditch practice. The second year smiled at his older cousin, nudging her gently, and she laughed.

The girl who's heart ached for the boy she loved-and the boy who would grow to leave behind a trail of heartache-walked off down the hall with each other, laughing and talking, each glad to have a cousin by their side, knowing that it wasn't people that mattered the most, it was family.

They were glad for the cousins and siblings and aunts and uncles who surrounded them all the time, proud to be known as one of those redheaded loons that filled the school, happy to have someone who would stand up for them, someone who would help them.

Someone who would help with a craving, empty heart, or even just a simple homework assignment. They were glad to be Weasleys, because that meant always standing together.


	16. Victoire&Lucy: Diary

_4 October, 2021_

_Dear Diary, _

_Of course I'm being ridiculous, of course I'm treating this like a bigger deal than I need to, but sometimes, I just can't help myself, because I'm Lucy Weasley, and I'm insane. _

_(At least, that's what everyone says. And it's not like I've done very much to counter their arguments. Whether I'm insane or just unstable is yet to be determined, but who knows, maybe I do belong in the madhouse with the rest of the nutters.)_

_But, my cousin Victoire is getting married later this year, and, of course, that means she needs bridesmaids._

_It was a given assumption that the bride-to-be would begin her search for bridesmaids within her circle of close relatives and even friends-isn't that how most girls do it?_

_But, Victoire has a sister and five female cousins she could choose from, and who's to say she would ever think to ask me, the strange little sister of Molly, who spent her first fifteen years being nothing more than a peculiar little shadow, and the next few years after that being horribly asocial, getting into trouble and even attempting to jump off the Astronomy Tower. _

_(Though, obviously, I'm alive, still, despite all efforts otherwise, so far.) _

_Me, seventeen year old Lucy Christine Weasley, a bridesmaid of a cousin who didn't even seem to recall I was ever there? _

_If I ever thought that would be something to wish for, I'd be even crazier than anyone had thought to be true already. _

_After all, there is very little love between Victoire and the daughters of Percy Weasley. (One of us has attempted to kiss Teddy several times now; the other just happens to be a physical mirror image of the first.) _

_But, maybe Victoire felt bad about what happened at the end of last year, when I came home three days early because there was too much gawking going on at the Hospital Wing. _

_Maybe she wanted to make me feel better; I don't know the reasoning, and I probably never will, but that doesn't change the fact that today, Victoire came up to me and asked if I would mind being one of her bridesmaids for her upcoming wedding. _

_(Of course, I said yes, because even though I try to deny it vehemently in public, I do adore the idea of weddings. _

_Of course I said yes, because I have a collection of romance novels under my bed that no one knows about. _

_Of course I said yes, because I'm jealous of Victoire Weasley, who gets to have the perfect life, and if all I am is an ugly girl in an ugly dress for a few hours, at least I can pretend I'm important, because Victoire asked me, for whatever reason. _

_Of course I said yes, why wouldn't I?) _

….

_1 April, 2024 _

_Dear Diary, _

_What do you do when your cousin has a baby, and it just utterly breaks your heart? What do you do when she comes home with the baby and shows it off to just everyone she knows, and you're left on the sidelines, wondering why you don't have what she has. _

_You're left wondering why it is some people can end up so perfect without even trying, while others only seem to leave a burnt path behind them, destroying everything they touch. _

_Perfect Victoire, who has these pink cheeks and perfect blonde hair, holding her perfect pink baby as she smiles around at the whole family, so proud of herself for having a bloody baby. _

_And everyone else is proud of her, too, because she's Victoire, and she can do no wrong. _

_Sorry, do I sound disgruntled? Jealous, maybe? My bad, I wouldn't want anyone to feel bad about that, of course. _

_After all, people have spent their entire lives concerned with how I felt, making sure their every statement, every single movement didn't accidentally effect anyone else, haven't they?_

_Oh, no, sorry, that's Victoire. Me, I'm the one that people run into and keep on walking without a word. People take my seat on the train or the bus, and don't even say sorry. _

_No one seems to care if I'm still here, so I'm not sure why Victoire ever bothered coming all the way up to the school to talk me down from the Astronomy tower. _

_I mean, other than that, when has she ever really seemed to give a damn about how I felt? She never asked how counseling was going, or ask if maybe I'd like to go out for a drink, because it must be hard losing your boyfriend to another girl. _

_I'm not supposed to hate Victoire, I'm not supposed to be jealous, just because she's prettier and smarter and funnier than I am._

_I'm not supposed to care that life just comes so easy to her, and I'm always left behind in the dust-really, I've been left behind everyone, not just Victoire, but she's oldest, and it's her happiness that always seems to hurt me the most._

_Because she's already so perfect, and all that ever seems to go right in her life is the things that I'll never get. _

_Victoire's Head Girl?_

_(I can't even be a Prefect.)_

_Victoire's married her best friend? _

_(Mine laughed in my face when I told him how I felt.)_

_Victoire's had a successful and fantastic pregnancy? _

_(I lost my baby at four months.) _

_No one knows that little fact, though, and I don't intend on ever telling them. I mean, Molly knows, because she's Molly-my sister, my flat mate, the girl who knows when I'm sick just by the colour of my ears._

_But, she never told anyone, not even Mum or Dad, and she also didn't tell when she had to drive me to a Muggle hospital because the baby was….gone. _

_I can't seem petty, I can't act like I have problems, not now, not when everyone's celebrating Victoire's baby boy, a pink-faced, pink-skinned little newborn that bawled when I looked at it. _

_I don't want to rain on her parade, I don't want everyone to know I'm jealous, because they just wouldn't understand, and they wouldn't care._

_I'm twenty years old, after all, and I have an entire life ahead of me to have kids. _

_Except, I lost my child at four months into a pregnancy no one knows about, and I can't even tell them that, because I don't want their pity. _

_I'm jealous, okay? I'll admit it-I'm fucking jealous of Victoire and her perfect life, and I'm jealous every time I go to the store and see all these women with three screaming tots all around them, and an arm full of groceries. _

_I'm jealous when I go to counseling and I see the secretary's pictures on her desk, where she tells me all about how her eldest is pregnant for the second time, and her youngest just got married. _

_I'm jealous, okay, I'm fucking jealous, because everyone else seems to be so happy all the time, and I'm still just a seventeen year old brat standing at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, waiting for the right moment._

_Except, this time, Victoire's not going to talk me back down-no one is. _

_So why haven't I jumped yet? _


	17. Victoire&Louis: Help

_September 1, 2015_

Louis stepped onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time in his entire life, leaving behind the bustling Platform 9 ¾, and with it, his family and everything he had had never known.

His pants sagged just a little, and Louis huffed, tugging his jeans back up his hips, upset that his journey to Hogwarts was already off to the wrong start.

Already, his older sister Dominique had rushed off to chat loudly with some friends farther down, and he could just tell she was probably squealing and jumping up and down like a silly little girl.

She was a Second Year now, and liked to act like she was better than anyone else. Louis' other sister was Victoire, a Fifth Year, who had promised to keep track of Louis, but he had no idea where she had disappeared to.

Louis sighed, lugging his suitcase into an almost empty compartment, seeing his cousin Lucy sitting quietly by herself, wearing a soft yellow shirt that clashed with her red hair.

She didn't look up as he put up his luggage and waved to her, leaving without a sound. The two were just months apart, but they weren't very close, and they didn't have much in common.

(Lucy was quiet and mousy, and Louis was more outspoken than she was. Besides the fact that they were cousins, the only reason they weren't at each other's throats was a vague respect for differing attitudes.)

Louis peeked out into the hallway, sticking his hands into his pockets as he strolled down the carpet path, occasionally waving at familiar faces.

He saw Molly in a carriage full of stuck-up Ravenclaws, and Teddy Lupin, who waved at him in a friendly manner before being sucked back into a game of Exploding Snap, leaving Louis to keep wandering, until he ran into three older boys already wearing their robes.

They wore green and silver, the colour of Slytherin, which Louis had already been warned about before coming to school-all his uncles had told him to stay away from Slytherins, who were usually considered nothing but trouble for the Weasley family.

They were all older than Louis was, taller and bigger, with menacing smirks, staring him down as he gulped.

"Look at the little firstie!" one of the boys cried, laughing as his buddies chuckled along with him. One of the boys moved closer, pushing Louis around, smirking and guffawing, ignoring Louis' protests and complaints, and even though he tried to escape, they grabbed his arms, pulling him back and forth, circling around him like sharks.

He looked around at them all, seeing only dark green and black robes, leering faces smirking down at him, teasing and bullying him, fingers pinching his skin and fingers pulling at his thin blond hair until he almost started crying like the little first year he truly was, a big crying baby.

"Look at the little firstie, he's going to cry, don't you think, Lars? Ought we to make him cry, Lars, what do you think?"

"Maybe we ought to pull out all that pretty blond hair and shove him out of the train window-he looks like another stupid Gryffindor, and Merlin knows we've got enough of those, don't we, boys?" growls Lars, shoving Louis against the wall.

"Oh, look, is that a tear?" says another boy, and they laughed again, pushing Louis.

"Hurt him, and I swear, I'll kill you," said a menacing voice from behind them, and Louis whirled around to see Victoire, holding her wand threateningly at the older boys, scowling down at them.

The boys looked at each other, smirking as if they thought Victoire wasn't going to do anything, and one of them moved for their wand.

"Accio," Victoire said casually, and his wand went flying into her hand. Victoire smirked back at them. "I suggest you run along now, and leave my brother alone, before I make good on my promises." She tossed the boy his wand back, laughing when he scrambled for it.

"Slither on now, little snakes, you've got somewhere to go." The Slytherin boys looked at each other briefly before taking off down the hallway, leaving the two siblings to snicker at them. "You okay, Lou?" Victoire asked, taking his hand as they walked back towards his carriage.

She smiled down at him, seeming to be genuinely concerned and they continued down the carpeted path, feeling the train shake as it rumbled down the tracks.

Overall, this had been a rather exciting ride so far-and it had barely even begun!-, but Louis was rather anxious to get back to his carriage.

"Was that really necessary, Torie? You didn't have to threaten them, did you?" He was smiling inside, though, glad at least someone had come to his defense. Louis had thought he'd been all alone on the train now, his older cousins too busy running off and living their own lives without him, the baby of the school-age Weasley grandchildren.

But his older sister had come to his defense, and now she was walking with him, making sure he was safe and fine, keeping bullying, older kids away.

He'd never admit it, but he was grateful for Victoire's help. He loved his older sister, and he knew she'd always be there for him, if he ever needed help, be it defending him or just explaining a problem on his homework.

Victoire was Louis' favourite sibling-she was more empathetic than Dominique, who mostly lived in her own sullen, selfish world-and Victoire seemed to understand the stress Louis went through.

"You didn't have to take his wand, did you?" Louis asked his sister again.

"Trust me," Victoire said coldly, her blue eyes going dark in a way that scared Louis slightly. "I was holding back around them. Any other year, I would have ripped out their throats and cursed them until their own mothers wouldn't recognise them. But I'm a Prefect now."

She scowled sullenly down at the gleaming badge pinned to her robes, the one that declared who she was and the importance of her existence at school, marking her as one of the fifteen year old who was just two steps down from teachers.

"And I have to behave a certain way, don't I, always maintaining a certain image so it reflects well on the school, yeah?" But she was smiling, protecting Louis, keeping him safe.

Louis smiled up at her, glad to have an older sister who was willing to help him all the time, to protect him and keep him safe.

He was glad to have his big sister, his crazy sister, Victoire.


	18. Victoire&James: Afterlife

_July 20, 2014_

James stood away from the rest of his family, watching silently as his uncle's body was lowered into the ground, sniffling quietly.

James tried to pretend there weren't tears on his cheeks, but as Uncle Charlie was buried, he had to turn away, sighing heavily.

Albus-sweet little eight year old Albus, who only ever seemed to want to make sure everyone else was fine-had tried to move closer to his brother, probably to comfort him with some inane over-used statement of shared sadness, but James merely waved him away, not wanting to be touched or talked to as he grieved for his uncle.

There was nothing to be said, he thought to himself, vaguely bitter in the way that children are when they've lost someone close to them.

There was nothing to be said, there was nothing anyone could possibly ever do to right what had been wronged.

He balled his fists, scuffing the muddy ground, wishing he could punch something, if it would bring his uncle back, his uncle Charlie, who shouldn't be dead, who shouldn't be gone yet, because he was just forty-one, so why was he dead?

James started to walk away, shaking his head towards Albus, who had stepped forward as if to hold his hand, to comfort him, but James only walked off, brushing away tears, and he knew his mother would worry about him and Dad would probably say something about how he just needed to be left alone.

(His Dad understood these sorts of things, even if no one else really did.)

James stumbled through the high grasses that came up to his chest, making it hard to walk, the ground muddy under his feet, like walking on a march, and he nearly stumbled; there was someone following him, and he spun around to see his older cousin, Victoire, who he didn't recall seeing at the funeral earlier.

Her long blonde hair was falling around her face, and she was shoving the grass out of the way to get to him, stopping just short, and James opened his mouth, a thought suddenly coming to mind.

"Do you think there's an afterlife?" the nine year old blurted, and if they hadn't been at a funeral for their uncle, Victoire would have been more than a little startled.

His big brown eyes stared up at in curiosity, brimming with the questions that filled smaller children at such things, when they were stuck between the stages of understanding that bad things happened and knowing that there was just nothing that really could be done about it.

Victoire was not used to such seriousness from the little boy, who had spent his entire life so far running around like a wild child, but something about the loss of her uncle had clearly affected him in some way.

"Do you think there's something after death, some place we all go when we're dead, and we spend the rest of forever, and nothing can hurt us? Do you think there's a….a heaven?"

Victoire considered his question for a minute, her head turned away to stare at the thin clouds in the sky, lingering from a week's worth of rain that had poured in just two days.

James was wringing his hands, sighing constantly, though he didn't seem to be aware of these things. Behind them, Grandma Molly had sagged, almost falling to the ground, was being supported by two of the uncles, who led Grandma Molly and little five year old Roxanne (who was really too young for this sort of thing) back inside the house.

"No," she finally said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. "No, I don't think there's an afterlife. At least, not for us, not for people like us. There's no reward for living, and there's no reward for finally just giving in and dying."

This was why James had asked his cousin Victoire; she was fourteen and morbidly serious at times-and she always took him serious, even when he was being goofy, which was certainly not the situation at this moment in time.

She didn't always understand what he was saying, but at least she was interested in what he had to say, and she didn't brush him off little baby who didn't know anything and who was too dumb to understand what was going on.

Victoire was looking at him in total seriousness-she had honestly considered his question and answered it with an honest, rational answer, instead of lying and buttering up the situation, acting like he was too young and too delicate to be given such a grown-up answer.

"I do," he confessed, and it was like something had broken inside him-James fell, his legs collapsing underneath him, and he dropped onto the wet ground, hardly caring, as the tears he'd been attempting to hold back came springing forth.

He hadn't wanted to cry, not even now, but he just couldn't help it; he didn't understand why he was crying now, but tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he just settled against Victoire, who had sat down next him, seemingly oblivious to the mud and muck around them.

"I think I have to believe in an afterlife, Torie. If I don't….if there's nothing there….why are we here? What's the point-Torie, what's the point, if there's nothing more after this? What…..why would anyone bother, if there's nothing else, no life after death, no anything…?" He sniffled, swiping at tears.

"I don't know, James," Victoire said gravely, handing James a handkerchief from her pocket. The nine year old sat there silently as his cousin talked, brushing at the tears, hiccupping every few seconds from the force of the crying. "I don't think anyone really knows the answer to that sort of thing-maybe that's why we bother at all, just in case there _is _something more, some other thing out there after all this mess that we just don't know about yet. I….I don't think it's likely that's there much of a chance, but I dunno. After all, I've never died, and until I do die, I won't be able to find out. I…." she sighed, looking down at James. "Aren't you a bit young to be asking these sorts of questions?"

She smiled at him weakly, and James offered her his own watery smile, leaning closer to her, feeling two heartbeats ticking in rhythm, beating constantly, as hearts are wont to do, and he wondered if maybe these questions were the sort of thing reserved for another day, when he was older, when he had more answers and experience.

He wondered if any of his other cousins had ever asked such a question before, or did they just push such ideas into the back of their mind, stuffing it down for _another day_, so they wouldn't have to deal with such things now.

Victoire started to get up, offering her his hand, and she pulled him up; the both of them were muddy and wet, their black attire covers in bit of grass, and there was muck in their hair. Victoire and James looked at each other quietly for a few seconds, and then he smiled.

"Don't be so serious all the time, James." Victoire said, grinning. "It worries me-you're not usually such a serious little boy, and I think we all need someone who can make us laugh. You're not as broken as you thing, James, and we need you, because you're funny and you're loving and kind, and you make people laugh. We need more people who know how to laugh….I think we're going to need that sort of thing very soon, so try to not be so serious, okay?"

James nodded, and his hand slipped from hers, his thin legs pumping as he ran back through the grass, back to where his family was, all thoughts of their conversation slipping from his mind as he took off.

Victoire, walking much more slowly behind him, wiped away a single tear, wondering what sort of monsters would try to swallow him up next.


	19. Victoire&Rose: Numb

_February 19, 2023_

It was weird, Rose thought to herself after everything was over and done with. In all her years, she would never have imagined that she'd fall in love with a guy like Scorpius Malfoy.

Oh, sure, they were in the same year and the same house, but that was where the similarities stopped. Malfoy was quieter than she was, shyer and closed, like he was trying to burrow deeper inside him, building a little nest in his corner of the Ravenclaw common room.

She hardly ever saw him anywhere besides his corner, surrounded by books, always devouring information, but never using any of his knowledge in class.

Scorpius, Rose could tell, knew a lot of things, and probably could have answered most of the questions the teachers threw at them in class, but instead, he just sat in the back, quietly existing, but acting like he hoped everyone would forget he was there.

Rose, however, was loud and much too involved in everything. She loved learning as much as any Ravenclaw, always seeking new things to learn, new spells to master, but she was competitive, actively throwing her hand in the air when she knew an answer, hoping that it was _her _and no one else that the teacher called on.

She would always race to learn the newest spell or potion the fastest, or find some star or planet before anyone, loudly and triumphantly cheering when she succeeded, or huffing and complaining when she failed.

Rose knew Scorpius was there at all times-he fascinated her in a way she couldn't explain and couldn't understand-but she took little notice of him most of the time, more focused on always _going, going, going, _always being the best at everything.

Rose hadn't been aware she was falling in love a boy she believed to be a perfect stranger-she hadn't been aware that he would soon become her other half, the part of her she hadn't even known was missing, and had never wanted to seek out.

After all, boys like Scorpius didn't interest her much, with their quiet, secretive manners, or the mysteriously silent ways they conducted herself.

(In all honestly, boys themselves did not interest her much at all. Rose was more attracted to people like Hannai Jebsen, another girl just one year younger than herself, but that did not stop her from falling in love with Scorpius.)

She'd fallen in love with a boy in the most normal sense of the word, but he hadn't fallen in love with her. She shouldn't have been surprised-wasn't it the same sort of thing she had told Scorpius, the first time she kissed him?

"_I can't ever love you the way they want me to," she had told him, pulling her pink lips away from his. They were both dressed up in their blue bronze, sitting outside the Ravenclaw common room after a particularly rowdy post-Quidditch game celebration. _

_Rose looked into his grey eyes, imaging a little boy or girl with those grey eyes and her red hair, wondering if such a thing could ever happen, if she could ever love him the way her parents loved each other._

_Oh, she loved Scorpius very much, but it wasn't the same sort of love she held for Hannai, who sent Rose's blood pumping every time she saw the younger girl._

"_Everyone thinks we're destined for each other, and I wish it was true, but I can't love you that way." And hadn't she meant every word of it?_

So why did it leave her feeling numb inside when he asked her if they could stop going out, because he wanted to date her cousin, Albus?

Why did it feel like he'd taken a part of her with him, even though she had known their relationship was never going to amount to anything more than a casual friendship, someone to hold her hand?

She was in love with Hannai, and _he_ was in love with Albus-it wasn't hard to understand, yet when he left, he left with her heart in his hands.

(_"I'm not in love with you, Rose, and you're not in love with me. What's the point in pretending otherwise?"_)

She grew numb as he walked away, and Rose ran for the only person she could think of to help her: Victoire, who was older than Rose by six years, and seemed to known so much about love and other people.

Surely, she'd be able to make sense of the confusion that Rose was feeling.

Victoire was a living poem, elegant and graceful and heartbreakingly beautiful. If she hadn't been Rose's cousin, Rose might have fallen in love with the older girl, who had sparkling blue eyes and a quick smile, always ready to give her younger cousin a big hug, and tell Rose how beautiful she looked, even if it wasn't true.

Victorie had been Rose's source of comfort for years, the person she came to when seeking advice about how she felt, or advice about her classes or which careers she should consider.

Victoire was the one who had bandaged Rose's knees when she fell off her broom all those years ago, and she was the one who bandaged Rose's numb, empty heart when Scorpius walked away, leaving her so confused and heartbroken.

It was Victorie who held Rose's hand that first night as she sobbed into a pillow, confessing all the strange feeling that were bubbling up inside of her, leaving Rose an emotional wreck who didn't know which way was up.

It was Victoire who explained it was possible to love a person but not be _in _love with them, as she sat over Rose, stroking her bright red hair, telling her all about the times Victoire had thought she was in love with someone, only to be left heartbroken and numb, struggling to recover.

It was Victorie who offered to punch Scorpius in the nose for being an insensitive git who didn't understand the difference between _loving someone _and _being in love with someone._

(Rose offered her a watery smile, but declined the offer.)

"You don't need to ever give up who you are for anyone, Rose," Victoire told her a few days later, when the seventeen year tearfully confessed that she was afraid of telling her parents she was now "broken up" with Scorpius, and that she was afraid to introduce them to Hannai as the girl she was interested in as _more _than a friend. "Don't let other people pressure you into feeling a certain way, or acting a certain way, just to make _them _feel better. You're a Ravenclaw, Rosie, and you're _so _smart-smarter than I'll ever hope to be. I hope one day soon you'll be able to understand that, understand that you're so smart and clever and unique. There's no one that's ever going to change you, Rosie, and I want you to know that. Not even your parents, okay?"

Victoire was Rose's sense of comfort, her sense of support, who was there when no one else could be, who held her hands on long walks. Victoire was the one who confessed to being pregnant to Rose before she told anyone else, even her own husband.

Victoire was the one who asked Rose to stand beside her as she numbly explained to their entire family that she was pregnant.

(Victoire would later stand by _Rose's _side, when she informed everyone that she was, in fact, planning on marrying Hannai.)

Victoire had been there all of Rose's life, guiding her onto a brighter path, where Rose could be an individual, where Rose couldn't be hurt by those who didn't understand her like Victoire did.

It was Victoire who was always waiting in the wings to save Rose, swooping down to pull her back up to safety.

Rose loved her cousin very much, just as much as she loved Rose and Scorpius and Teddy.

Rose loved to be able to stand next to Victoire and hold her hand as they watched fireworks explode, loved to be able to be the one Victoire called to wipe away her tears.

Rose had gone numb when Scorpius walked away, but it was Victorie who brought her back to life, just by being there.

(_"People change, Rosie. Ideas change, Rosie. Society changes, Rosie. Our love for each other and for our family, however, will never change. I will be by your side until the day you die, and not a moment beforehand."_)

Rose was stronger and smarter and braver when she stood side by side with her cousin Victoire, and she was ready to fight anyone who hurt her cousin-she knew Victoire felt the same way, ready to defend her family all the way to the very end, no matter what anyone else ever said or thought.

Victoire was _family_, and family stuck together.


	20. Victoire&Albus: Wishing

_July 8, 2023_

Victoire held her cousin's hand as they walked, and pointed out the different constellations and the names of the trees that they passed on their walk, making sure he knew each one's name, making sure he was listening and paying attention.

She knew the names of many of the different plants and stars, and as she talked, Albus squirmed in her grasp, as though he were trying to move away from her, but she held fast to him, still talking, explaining everything to him in her quiet sort of voice, and he continued to ignore her, scowling sourly.

She could tell he wasn't listening, as he turned this way and that, probably wondering why she had even dragged him out here in the first place, because this must look like a big waste of time to him.

She pointed out her favourite constellation, the called Andromeda, like Teddy's grandmother, smiling mildly, as Albus rolled his eyes at her.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," Albus said somewhat sarcastically, but she only shook her head, knowing that he was hiding behind the pain with a barrier of mean words and sarcasm-she knew, because had done the same thing to others other the years, hurting them with words and anger and even punches, because she just didn't know how to explain that it hurt. "Good job, good job, you've passed the test, you're the smartest of them all."

His lips curled up into something similar to a snarl, and he turned to pull from her grip, but Victorie only tightened her fingers around his wrist, moving closer to him.

She wasn't going to let him go just yet, wasn't going to let him walk away without talking to him first.

"You're angry, Albus, but you're not angry at me-I can tell that much-so don't be so rude and hateful. It won't make this conversation go any easier, and you're going to want to have a clear mind when we talk. I know, I know, you're sleepy and frustrated and probably confused. You probably wish I'd just hurry up and say my piece so you can go back to bed and forget I ever said anything, but you've got to hear me out, okay? Just give me ten minutes, and then I'll take you back home, and continue to ignore me, and continue to be mad at James."

She looked at him, and after a tense moment, Albus nodded, but he only stood there tensely, tearing his wrist from her grasp.

"There are a million things that bind us together-the fact that we're cousins just happens to be one of them." Victoire began, speaking in soft, quiet tones. Albus paused in his scowling, turning to look at her with curiosity. "There are a million things that make us who us who we are-I'm the prettiest of us all, depending on who you ask, and you're the smartest of us all, depending on who you ask. James is the bravest, Hugo is the quietest, Fred is the strongest, and Lily is the most creative. We're all unique, but we've all gone at least one thing in common: we all are really good at wishing for things." Albus blinked, confused, and Victorie pointed at the sky. "Remember when we were little kids, and we'd spend hours outside, just waiting for the stars to come out so we could wish on every single one."

"You'd always wish for dumb stuff, like good scores on your tests, or for Teddy to like you," Albus said, laughing quietly. "And Rose used to wish that Uncle Ron would still love her, even after everything that happened."

He looked away, eyes falling down to the ground, pulled down by the same sadness that had made his shoulders sag all week, ever since James had walked out the front door, stepping away from his brother for what might be a very long time.

"I used to wish that no one would ever leave me behind, because I wanted everything to just stay the same, forever and ever, like it was back when we were all little kids, back before people started going to Hogwarts and growing up and falling love," he mumbled.

"You're seventeen, now, Al, and I know you feel like that's much too old to still be wishing on stars like a little kid, but I brought you out here to remind you that the stars don't stop holding their magic just because you've grown up and everything different from how it was ten years ago. Just remember that-you're older now, but you can still wish on stars like you used to. In fact, we could still wish on them right now."

She waved a hand casually at the sky, pointing up at the stars that twinkling down at them, and Victoire smiled at her cousin. Albus stood there silently for a moment, and nodded, smiling back at her.

"I can go first, if you'd like: I wish that everyone would just be happy." She gave him another teasing smile before closing her eyes.

Albus stood thoughtfully for at least a full minute, closing his eyes and thinking to himself. "I wish that James would hurry back home soon, and that he wouldn't be so angry all the time," Albus finally whispered, and he shifted closer, putting his hand in Victoire's.

They stood that way, staring up at the stars until the sun began rising, making wishes after wishes, talking about how they felt and what made them angry and making more wishes.

Victoire couldn't keep the smile off her face, and Albus looked a lot happier than he had been when they started out on their way here.

Victoire felt like she had finally connected with her younger cousin, who had been so chilly and distant since James had taken off, and she felt like he was a lot better now, a lot happier than he had been just an hour ago, when she had woken him.

They smiled at each other and wished on the stars.


	21. Victoire&Lily: Return

_March 11, 2033_

Lily had seen her very last unicorn just that morning-the very last unicorn anyone would ever see again-and she was still dazzled by it.

The unicorn had been very tall, with a gleaming pure silver coat and the beginnings of what was going to be horn, its hooves a bright gold that it might have carried for the rest of its life, had the unicorn lived any longer.

The unicorn had-according to Beezly, at least-been around three or four years old at the time of death, only seven months old when they found it, a gold horse wandering around in the deep forests of Germany.

The last unicorn in the world, Beezly had declared proudly, and Lily Luna Potter had been there to watch it die just a few hours previous. It had been a horrible, beautiful sight, watching the last of these elusive, majestic creatures fall with a final blow, so steady Lily had nearly missed it by blinking.

It was March 11th, in the year two thousand and thirty-three, and the era of the unicorn had ended at 7.34 that morning.

Lily Luna Potter was twenty-five years old.

(Lily had cried as she watched the last unicorn, little more than a baby, give out a feeble, final cry, its eyes slipping shut forever, the end of its life, the end of the unicorns.

The brave Gryffindor had been left in tears as she ran away, not wanting to smell the blood, or see the men laugh and start their own little fire as they joked about an end of an era, seemingly oblivious to the pain that they had just caused her, the suffering she had just gone through.

They didn't seem to realise that they hadn't just killed the last unicorn, but they had killed an entire species, and an entire lifestyle wrapped around such a creature.)

As she walked back to her campsite, hands stuffed into her jean pockets, Lily wondered why the world didn't look so different when it was obvious everything had changed so drastically.

After all, the children born after this moment would only learn of the unicorns as just another thing of the past, something of their parents' generations, or a model in a museum, something to write a report about.

_The Fall of the Unicorns_-Lily had written something similar just three years ago, when they'd killed off the last nursing unicorn, the last broodmare in the known world.

She'd cried then, too, big wet tears as she handed in her report, wondering where the world had gone to, if the unicorns were dying out, if she'd end up raising her own children in a world devoid of the majestic, magical creatures.

Ahead of her was Victoire, who stood solidly and solitary outside their little camp, peering into the distance, obviously waiting for her.

She had offered to come and stand with Lily as the unicorns died forever-never to return-but Lily had declined, telling her she ought to stay with the children, who were too young to see such terrible, awful things.

They were too sweet, too innocent, as the unicorn who had been slaughtered just an hour ago, had been-too young to die, but they had taken the unicorn from her forever, and Lily could only stagger up the hill as she thought to herself, trying to keep the tears inside.

_How dare they! How dare Beezly laugh as the unicorn struggled against its restraints, trying to flee from the knife! How dare he and the others mock me for crying, when they're the ones without a heart to spare!_

….

Victoire watched her cousin arrive back at the tents where'd they'd been staying while Lily attempted to stop those awful men from killing the last unicorn (a little foal that Lily kept calling Gertrude, and talked about as if it were her own child) and she knew from Lily's slouched shoulders and downed head that she had failed in her singular crusade; she wanted to turn around and usher the children back into their tent, as if somehow that would protect them from the knowledge that the unicorns were _dead and gone_, and they weren't coming back.

(How many times had the girls whispered their prayers at night for the pure silver little thing, begging for the blood to not spill freely on the ground?

Victoire's own prayers had joined them, begging for the continued freedom of innocence, so they didn't have to live in such a world where the unicorns were only a rumour, a myth.)

"I failed, Torie," Lily said quietly, coming up short, and she huffed, looking at the hill behind them, where someone had started a bonfire, which was already burning steadily. She imagined that it must smell terrible as they began to through the body parts in, as they burned, taking the unicorn away from them forever, never to return. "I failed, I _failed! _She's gone, oh, Torie, she's gone, and I've failed!" Lily fell against her cousin, sobbing freely into her shoulder, and continued with her muffled cries. "They're never going to return, I'll never see another one again. They won't return-all the unicorns are gone, oh, oh!"

Victoire took the young woman in her arms, hugging her tightly while Lily hiccupped loudly, murmuring constantly about the unicorns, who could not return, who would never be seen again.

Victoire thinks to herself that it will be years before Lily is fine again, before she will be able to get over such a senseless murder, and she hugs her cousin that much more tightly.

Behind them, the girls are peeking out from their tent, watching as their mother and their cousin Lily hold each other and cry.

She hears Remus call out loudly, pointing at the fire, which was still going strong, and he started down the hill, as if to go stop them.

Victoire pulled herself away from Lily, calling Remus back, demanding that he return to her right now, and the nine year old only paused, staring at the fire below them.

"What do we do now, Torie? What do we do now, without the unicorns? I…..they're all gone now, they're never going to return…Torie, what are we going to do? I promised the girls….I told them I would take them to meet Gertrude before….they never even got to see her, not once. They've never seen a unicorn, and now they never will. Gertrude…I almost missed her, Torie. They wanted to kill her before I woke, so I couldn't try to stop them. That's why I ran down still in my pyjamas. And now…she's gone anyway, gone forever, the last unicorn. She's not going to return-oh, Torie, what do we do now, without the unicorns?"

"I don't know, Lils," Victoire said quietly, and she felt the girls clinging to her leg, watched as Remus trudged back up the hill, moving to hold his brother's hand. They stood on the top of the hill, watching the fire burn, knowing it meant something drastic had changed just then in their world, something that would affect their lives forever, the last of the unicorns burning in a pyre below them. "I just don't know what there's left to be done-crying won't bring them back, crying won't do anything. I just….I'm sorry, Lily, but I don't think there truly is anything to be done, you know? The unicorns won't be returning and…we're going to have to get used to that fact, aren't we? They aren't going to return."


	22. Victoire&Hugo: Nostalgia

_June 29, 2018_

Victorie hated the dusty old shop, with its faded letters, just barely still legible in the stamped gold ink of some forty years ago, spelling out the store's name: Serendipity: Antiquities and Curiosities, like a big calling card to grandmothers seeking out faded lamp shades, or encouraging quirky, too-cool university students hoping for a cheap couch to haggle over.

Antiquities, curio, pawn shop-this was Serendipity, where Victoire had been left with her cousin, Hugo, who was only ten and had remained completely silent since their arrival, save for a happy little noise as the door opened.

Hugo was actually, completely, eerily silent in that way that only small children could pull off-Hugo was living proof of that left-behind eeriness of children in horror movies, a truth to the rumour of the strange vibes they sent off.

Victoire wasn't too fond of the little boy-he was nothing like his sister at all-who was standing in the Muggle antique shop, holding a dagger in his hands and wobbling back and forth as he hummed soundlessly, his eyes moving around the store.

Victoire held in her own hand a slightly chipped mug with a picture of William Shatner's grinning face staring up at her, still as a Muggle portrait, dressed up in his Captain Kirk's uniform for a show that had been popular when her grandparents were teenagers.

Victorie felt slightly incredulous to be holding something that probably had seen a lot over the past fifty something years, probably being handed from a fanatic father to his son, to his grandson, who hadn't nearly so interested in the show, and had dumped the mug and other odds and ends from his attic here, at Serendipity.

She looked down at the mug in her hands, wondering if she'd ever leave anything behind that had been so important to her, only to have her descendants abandon them in favour of something brighter and shinier than her old artifact.

Victoire shivered, looking up to see Hugo staring at her with wide brownish-blue eyes, large as golf balls, and she scowled, slamming the mug down on a counter with just a little more force than she would have liked to handle the fragile looking mug with.

"Did you want something?" she asked him somewhat briskly, but he only shook his head, turning away silently, putting the dagger back in its place without a sound, and Hugo slipped off, deeper into the store than Victoire cared to go

. She was angry-angry at her mother for dumping her at this stupid store for an hour while she did her shopping, angry at Aunt Hermione for not teaching her son how to function like any other person. But that was a little cruel, wasn't it?

Didn't Hugo have a bad stutter, and wasn't he so terribly shy around everyone, even his own family, that his parents had started taking him to a psychiatrist every week in an effort to get him to open up?

Victoire didn't know why she was always so cruel and harsh to the ten year old, but there was something about him that unsettled her, and she just couldn't stop the mean words from spilling out.

Hugo had come back, just as quiet as ever, like a shy little ghost that never made a sound, and she couldn't help scowling at him, wishing he would talk just once.

In fact...a mean thought went through her head, and she turned to Hugo then, smiling in a way that made his eyes flicker with nervousness.

"Can you say something for me, Hugo? Just one little phrase, please? I want you to say '_My name is Hugo Weasley, the mute, and I'm going to be a Hufflepuff._' Can you say that, Hugo? Huh, can you say that? I want to hear you say it-'_My name is Hugo-_'go on, say it nice and loud so I can hear you."

He glanced down at the floor and mumbled something quietly that Victorie couldn't hear, and though she knew it wasn't right, though she knew she would regret it, she moved closer to him, grabbing his arm.

"Look me in the eye and say it. I dare you, Hugo, just say it, just one little sentence, that's all I want to hear." She was taunting him, Victoire knew.

She hated the tears that sprung to his eyes, hated knowing she had caused it, but she couldn't keep herself from tugging on his arm to get him to say it.

Hugo wiped away tears, but he remained silent, lips quivering without a single sound, and Victoire could only sigh in disgust, wishing she wasn't stuck on baby-sitting duty, wishing she didn't have to hang around the mute little baby who never said a word, the little kid that she knew nothing about, because he could never seem to open up to anyone, never seem to find the courage to speak what came to his mind-because there must be something he was thinking about, something that occurred to him at least once that he might have wanted to say, but he only ever carried around his stupid notebook, scribbling away all the time instead of learning how to socialise like a normal person.

And off he had gone just then, off through the shelves so that she couldn't see him.

Victoire sighed, balling her hands into tight fists-she tried to keep away from all the old things in the shop, afraid she might break something or scream loudly, she was so frustrated with herself.

Why couldn't she ever just be nice to her little cousin, who was just trying his best to be normal, who was just trying his best to survive in a world that moved too fast for him?

Why did she always find herself bullying and pushing him until he left in tears? She was eighteen and he was ten-and yet she was acting like the little girl, shoving him into the mud just because she could, just to prove a point, knowing it would hurt him.

But when he was around, she just couldn't control herself, some voice in her head yelling at her to just poke, poke,_ poke _at him until there was nothing left.

As she thought this, Hugo reappeared, handing her an old picture in its cracked frame, looking up at her with those curious eyes.

A wave of nostalgia and shock washed over Victorie as she stared at the old photo that Hugo was sharing with her; she wasn't sure how a copy of the photograph had gotten here of all places, but it was easily recognisable: Grandma Weasley, Grandpa Weasley, and a much younger Dad and Uncle Charlie, all waving up to the camera.

In this Muggle version, they didn't move, choosing instead to remain frozen in mid-wave, grinning like idiots, but in the version she'd seen back home, Dad would jump up and down excitedly and Uncle Charlie would eventually duck behind Grandpa's legs, hiding shyly from the camera, offering only a crooked grin.

Victoire looked away in shock, meeting Hugo's eyes, who smiled at her, his eyes glimmering happily, as he pulled his hand away, setting the photo down.

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it completely, wishing she could just hug him and make everything better. Hugo only nodded, as if to say he forgave her, but that didn't make Victoire feel any less guilty as she met his gaze, and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, feeling his uneven heartbeat pattering alongside her own frantic thumping. "I'm so, so sorry I made you cry, Hugo, I don't know why I'm so mean, I just don't understand it-I try to be nice, but all I ever do is make you cry, and I don't mean to."

She was blubbering now, and Hugo patted her arm awkwardly, as if trying to reassure her that everything was fine, that they were fine.

And though she knew it wasn't fine, that things could never be totally fine no matter how hard she tried, at least she could try to be a better cousin.

It might not last-it was a lot easier to make such promises surrounded by the past and surrounded by nostalgia-but she would try her hardest to do better.


	23. Victoire&Roxanne: Study

_December 21, 2015_

Victoire was trying to study for her upcoming O.W.L.s, wishing her teachers hadn't given them so much homework for the Easter break.

Professor Stebbing-the Potions professor-had assigned them three and a half rolls on the Wolfsbane potion and all its properties, who had made it, and the exact social and political benefits of the potion, swearing such things would appear on their practical exam in June.

Victoire was sure he had smiled in a very goblin like manner when he'd said it, and he was probably cackling over the amount of homework he'd assigned over the holiday, while he sat comfortably in his office.

Victoire sighed, stretching in her chair as she grumbled mentally about her least-favourite professor, turning to see someone standing just outside of her room, as if they'd been waiting quietly for a few minutes now, but hadn't had the nerve to say anything.

"What's the matter, Roxy?" Victoire asked the girl, who was standing quietly at the doorway of her room; Roxy was a tiny little girl with long dark hair and a narrow face, with wide hazel eyes and a curious half-smile on her face at all times.

Except for now, her mouth was turned down as she clutched a thin paperback book in her hands, looking down anxiously at the floor, as if she were thinking hard about something.

Victoire didn't know much about her young cousin, who was eight years younger than Victoire, but she knew Roxanne well enough to see the beginnings of a teary conversation.

"Are you okay, Roxy? Has Louis and Fred been picking on you again?" she asked, and Roxy shook her head, one dark braid in her mouth.

The little girl with the dark hair crept into Victoire's room, looking shy and quiet, not at all like her usual self, normally so playful and busy.

Victoire wondered briefly if Louis and Fred _had _been picking on her again and mentally decided to at least go say something to the two boys, because she knew Roxy probably wouldn't bother trying to defend herself.

But Roxy quietly padded up to Victoire, her hazel eyes wide as she stared at Victoire, making the fifteen year old feel self-conscious in a way that most people didn't.

Victorie had never really understood Roxanne Weasley, the youngest of her cousins, a surprise child to her uncle and aunt.

By the time Roxanne had started walking and talking and behaving properly, Victoire had been in school, and she really didn't know much about this fleeting shadow before her.

"I can't read," the six and a half year old whispered quietly, and Victoire had to lean in just to hear her quiet voice. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke, her hands shaking, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm the oldest in my class because of my birthday and everything, I'm the only one who can't read all the books, and we've got a _test _on Monday for reading stuff. Ms. Abby says it's a big, big test that might decide which class we're placed in next year, and I'm afraid that I'll fail, and Ms. Abby might put me in the stupid class, with all the dumb people like Roger Akbar. I don't want to fail it, Torie," she murmured, letting out a small sob, falling into Victoire's open arms, and sniffling. "I don't want to fail school and make everyone think I'm too stupid to go to school. I want to go to Hogwarts with _you_, Torie! Why can't I be a big girl and go to Hogwarts like you and Freddy, so I don't have to do the reading stuff test on Monday? Only, I've told Ms. Abby I can read just fine, except sometimes, the words sort of shift around and change the way they're written, so I can't understand it-oh, Victorie, can't you cast some sort of spell to help me read better?!"

"What do you want me do to about that?" Victoire asked, wrinkling up her forehead in confusion. Behind her was a long stack of books about Wolfsbane and various charms or important pieces of magical history that she just _had _to learn by the time school started up again, because there was simply _no more time _to learn them.

But she couldn't-didn't know how to-explain that Roxanne, who was standing with a quivering lip, clutching her beat up paperback with tiny hands.

"I can't teach you to read, Roxy, you should have done that earlier. There's no magic spell or potion that will help you-learning to read is something everyone's got to do, and I'm very busy, so I haven't got the time to go over your phonics or your vowels or whatever."

She turned back towards her studies, not noticing the trembling tears in Roxanne's eyes as she backed out of the room quietly.

"Okay," Roxanne said as she left, closing the door behind her. Victoire had no way of knowing this, but if she had seen the desperation on her cousin's face, she might have broken away from her studying for just a moment to go comfort and console the young girl, who looked close to having a bawling fit.

Roxanne sighed as she closed the door to Victoire's room, just another cousin who was too busy to take care of the baby of the family, just another cousin who sent her on her way with a "I'm busy right now, Rox."

She was used to it now, the "Maybe later" and the "Can't you see I'm doing something?"

All she wanted to do was have a little help, because the words were moving when she read, and Roxanne didn't understand why.


	24. Molly&Fred: Foolish

_March 14, 2019_

Fred was a foolish sort of boy, Molly decided with a sigh, twisting her hair in curls around her index finger.

_Very _foolish, actually, considering the fact that he was currently under the impression that she was going to help him write his History of Magic essay-_especially_ since he seemed to think that 'help' meant Molly did all the work for him.

He had apparently caught wind that she was currently tutoring Louis, and now would not leave her alone, begging her for help with this assignment and that assignment.

And, she might have been willing to help him but for the fact that this was the third time in two weeks that the Gryffindor had come to her with his papers, clearly unaware what he was even supposed to be writing about.

He was also quite foolish in assuming she would even bother to help him with anything.

After all, she was terribly busy with her own classwork, as her N.E.W.T.s drew ever closer with each day-she had no time to deal with her younger cousin's issues.

(And besides, she just didn't like Fred very much. He was loud and obnoxious and over all, very, extremely arrogant.)

He came to her over dinner one afternoon, with his stupid puppy dog eyes, claiming that O.W.L.s were stressing him out, that he didn't have enough time for everything, and _can you please help a poor cousin out? I know you're helping Louis-please, I'll do anything._

Molly merely shook her head, shooing him off; he didn't even know what his essay was about, nor what they had been talking about in class. He was wasting her own time, time that she could be using to help Louis or study or keep an eye on Lucy, who wasn't eating anymore.

He came back again, though, showing her an outline of his essay, begging for her help because he'd failed his last test and his parents were absolutely _not _happy with Fred.

She had settled down an hour again in the library, expecting a few hours of rest to study and be away from the business of her fellow student body.

"That's not exactly my fault, is it, now, Fred? I'm not the one who has been slacking off and goofing around instead of taking my studies seriously; _you _may not realise this, but these seven years here at Hogwarts aren't some crazy vacation away from home. This is _school_, and you are here to learn. Maybe if you'd stop acting so foolish, I'd take you seriously, Fred."

"So what? You'll help Louis, but not me? What do you have against me, Molly? What did I do to you? What could I possibly have done to you that you're being such a…a _bitch _to me?" It was the wrong thing to say, and Fred knew it even as he said it; but there was no going back, no rewind button in real life.

Brown eyes-_harsh brown, angry brown, oh Merlin she might kill me brown-_eyes glared up at him as Molly swept out of her seat, gathering her things and leaving him at the table, wishing to the heavens above that she wasn't Head Girl; all she wanted to do just then was punch him or curse his arse into next Thursday.

Fred was a foolish young man, and he didn't deserve her help-and Molly didn't intend on giving it to him, either.

….

_July 3, 2021_

Fred was a foolish sort of boy, at least Molly Weasley thought, the silly sort who would think that somehow, someday, Quidditch would get him somewhere.

For whatever reason, he had convinced himself that Quidditch was the only way of separating himself from his multitude of cousins, if he only just worked hard enough at it.

Molly and Louis had tried to explain to him that there was a very slim chance he would even make it through try-outs, and that he was better off trying to explore some other career, but Fred was foolish and headstrong, and insisted that Quidditch was his calling-Quidditch, and nothing else, he told them, and Molly settled down to watch the madness.

Of course he wasn't accepted-and it was heartbreaking, to watch him come to Grandma Molly's house after everything, letter in hand, his brown eyes so big and sad.

Though only seventeen, he gave off the appearance that all his dreams had been crushed.

"They said no," Roxanne, who was only eleven now, but already so smart-much smarter than her foolish dreamer of a brother. "Didn't even really say why, just wrote back 'No thank you, try again next year.' He's been pouting all morning, and Mum nearly had to threaten his life to even get him over here. Fred's a right mess now."

And he was, with his sullen glances, his curled fists. James and Louis tried to comfort him, convince him that he was still only seventeen, there was always next year-why not try again next July? But Fred was having none of it; locked away in his own little world of self-pity.

"Get over yourself," Molly told him harshly, speaking through his closed door as the family prepared for dinner downstairs. "So they said no-big deal. You're young and you're foolish, and you've got a whole life ahead of you to keep trying. What, you're going to hide away forever because for the first time ever you've been told no? You'll never get anywhere in life if you just fall to pieces every time you get rejected, Fred."

….

_July 9, 2023_

Fred was a foolish sort of boy, Molly knew, but that didn't stop her from screaming when she got the phone call. It came early in the morning, when she was just barely awake, breakfast not even on her mind.

The house phone rang loudly, rattling in its anxiety-the phone, as always, made the whole flat shake, and Lucy yelled at her to shut it up. She almost ignored it but for a sense of foreboding.

Fred was supposed to be at Puddlemere try-outs, after two years of trying to get in. He was nearly twenty now, but still just as much a foolish dreamer as he had been two years ago, writing that very first _please _letter.

But, they had finally granted him an audition-him and forty or so others-and Molly was at least proud of him for not giving up.

She answered the phone, expecting great news or some teasing from one of her friends; perhaps Marissa had finally had her baby after all.

Instead, it was her cousin, Dominique, who called with a harsh whisper and a barely contained tremble in her voice.

Molly nearly dropped the phone with shock, but instead, she merely thanked Dominique for calling and hung up.

Fred was a foolish sort of boy-and he always would be.


	25. Molly&Lucy: It's Gone

_It's gone. _

_Molly, it's gone. _

_What have I_

_Done wrong?_

_It's gone-_

_It's all gone._

….

_May 20, 2024_

She woke up sobbing, tears spilling over onto her cheeks, wetting her pillow and the tips of her hair.

The lights in her room were still clicked off, the curtains drawn tightly over the windows so the sun didn't even have the slightest chance of leaking in; the only noise was her own shallow breathing and the hum of the coffee maker in her kitchen.

Lucy sighed, rolling to her side and curled up into a little ball.

Her breath was tagged and uneven as she struggled to calm herself down, squeezing her eyes shut so tight, she saw red.

Lucy wanted to scream, but instead, she swiped at her cheeks, wishing the tears would burn her skin away.

"Lucy-Lu?" Someone asked, tapping on her door. Lucy glanced up at her older sister, Molly, who smiled softly down at the girl in the bed; Lucy only scrubbed the tears away even harder, ignoring the comforting hands her sister laid on Lucy's shoulders. "Did you have a bad dream again, Lu? Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course she didn't want to talk about it-she never did and she never would. And Molly knew that, which is why she only kissed her sister's tear-soaked cheeks and left.

Molly was a mostly decent sister, ignoring Lucy's high-pitched shrieks when asked to, and holding her little sister close when Lucy called out for her at night.

Molly left her alone in the dark, tears staining her skin as she laid on the bed, staring up at a blank ceiling that could not answer her questions.

Lucy had dreamed of cold hands that reached out for her, the bloody ripping of skin as Healers rushed around her, Molly clutching her hands as she screamed and asked for Luke, begged to know what was going on, because it was too soon-it was much too soon, she wasn't ready for this.

Lucy dreamt of harsh eyes blinking down at her, explaining in calm voices that her son was dead, her little baby boy was gone without taking a single breath.

_No, I'm only four months along, that's not right, that's not possible. _She had thought to herself when they told her, and it was the same thing she still thought about now, three months since the _incident_. She still woke up with her hands on her belly, wondering why it was not her quickly growing son that had woken her, but the memories of his lifeless, tiny body being carried away, blanketed so that she could not see him.

She still reached out to cling to a boy who had left her long before, leaving her to wake to a cold and empty bed not long after he had entered it.

And, the entire time, Molly remained by her side, listening to the screams and the tears and the awful curses that Lucy threw at her sister.

_It's gone_, Lucy yelled often, because it was sometimes hard to imagine that something so tiny could ever have been a person, but it had been her son; only Molly remained faithfully by her side, bringing food and wet cloths and comforting words.

Most of all, she brought a sense of firm realness, a sense that Lucy had not yet gone insane, that she was not so far into depression that nothing else existed but her and her own madness.

Lucy didn't understand why Molly had not left like everyone else: Luke, Dad, the baby, her cousins and friends-everyone was gone except for Molly, and Lucy hated her for that.

She was so sure that one day Molly would leave her-gone, run off as fast as she could to escape her mad little sister-and the fact that Lucy woke every morning to the sounds of her sister making breakfast in the kitchen only angered her further.

It wasn't right that Molly-the distant older sister-remained behind when no one else had. It wasn't fair that it was just the two of them left to deal with Lucy's madness.

"I hate you," Lucy told her often and usually with a sense of anger that took a long time to ebb into regret. She truly did hate her sister, and Molly knew that; Lucy hated everyone and everything.

She hated people who were happy and people who weren't; people whose lives seemed so perfect and people who were even more broken than she was.

Molly knew that her sister hated her, yet she stuck around anyway, and Lucy couldn't figure out why.

"It's gone."-it was one of the few things she had said in the past three months, when she wasn't walking around blank-eyed and slumped.

She spent days upon days in her bed, propped up by nothing more than pillows and the faith of her sister; Lucy did not want to live just as much as Molly was intent on keeping her alive.

"It's gone," Lucy would mumble to her sister as the older girl came bustling in with food and drinks and kind words. "It's gone, gone, it's gone, where has it gone?"

She hated waking alone, but she hated waking to the sight of her older sister looking down at Lucy with such a sad look in her eyes.

She begged for dreamless sleeping draughts, begged to be relieved from her pains and her nightmares, but the Healers told her she had become too dependent, that she was going to kill herself for wanting a good night's sleep; Lucy told them she was going to die anyway, and she'd much rather die without the awful dreams invading her mind at night.

But Molly, who was in charge of Lucy and probably always would be, agreed with the Healers; and so, Lucy went without dreamless sleeping draughts, and she woke up screaming every morning.

Why was it so hard for Molly to see that Lucy no longer cared about living? Why did she not seem to understand that all Lucy craved now was to sleep forever and ever, sleep without dreams, without tears, without the cries of _It's gone-it's dead!_

She hated being alive, hated being awake, because all that meant was anger and screaming and the sad stares from Molly, the tiny little shaking of her head every time she came in to find Lucy tangled in her blankets.

(Lucy was twenty and she was being treated like she was two.)

(Lucy had lost a baby and she was being treated like she was dead herself.)

She hated Molly, and she hated herself for everything that had happened.

After all, this was all her fault-it was, she was at fault here, killing her child, turning away from everyone.

_It's gone, _she screamed to no one. _It's gone, everything's gone, I've ruined it all. _

….

_Molly-_

_I don't understand._

_Where's it gone?_

_My…my baby, _

_Where's he gone?_

_He's not gone, no!_

_He can't be!_

_Gone-_

_I'm alone, _

_Molly._

_I'm alone. _


	26. Molly&James: Innocence

_April 12, 2009_

Molly held onto James' hand, spinning around the room wildly, the two of them giggling as first James and then Molly fell to the floor, their heads spinning as they tumbled, knees buckling.

The tips of their fingers tapped each other lightly against soft carpet, making contact as though to reassure themselves of the other's continuing existence.

All she could see were black spots fuzzily covering her vision like little dark caterpillars and she laughed, feeling like she was still four, instead of eight-like she was still too young to be bothered about nearly anything.

She felt like…_James_, innocent and childish.

Molly's bright braids just touched James' cheeks, and he laughed, blowing the clustered hair away from him.

He pushed the ginger braids away from him, as they tickled his nose and cheek-Molly could see him out of the corner of her eye as he laughed contentedly.

"The ceiling is moving!" he cried, raising wobbly fists and wiggling fingers up towards the ceiling, swirling his tiny hands through the air like two odd little pale fishes. "It won't stop moving, Molly, make it stop-James is getting _so _dizzy!" the four year old giggled again, reaching out to tap Molly's hand lightly, letting his other hand fall limply beside him on the floor.

"I can't make it stop, silly, just don't move and it'll go away eventually." Molly said, gripping his hand in hers and holding on tightly.

Lights were flickering in her eyes, leaving her dizzy and confused, with a buzzy feeling in her head that seemed to run all the way down to her feet.

Molly felt that if she even tried to move, she would throw up.

She could hear her Aunt Ginny in the upstairs nursery, where James' younger siblings slept.

She listened as Albus, with his high, clear voice asked where James was; she couldn't quite make out Aunt Ginny's response, but the high-pitched laughter that followed quickly after could only have belonged to the youngest Potter, Lily, who was only about fifteen months old.

Molly felt James' fingers now resting on the base of her neck, and she laughed weakly about nothing in particular-the ceiling had stopped spinning now, though the prickling remained, and she laughed again, because everything else hurt.

Molly sighed deeply, and she felt James shift next to her, scooting closer to her, his fingers fluttering from her neck to grip her hand once more.

She could imagine the look of childish worry on his face, though at this angle she could not see it.

The hand that was not holding her hand moved to tap the line of her jaw, slipping farther up to rest lightly on her ear for a brief second before skimming over Molly's cheek and nose.

"Is Molly okay?" James asked, sliding so close that he was nearly lying on top of her, Molly's arm slithering around his waist like a pale snake that gripped him tightly. "Is Molly sad? Don't be sad, Molly, James doesn't like it when you're sad."

He was so innocent, so sweet in his concern for her, and Molly smiled down at him, wishing that James could be this empathic all the time.

(_But he was only four years old-four years, just, and she was so harsh to him. She was so harsh to all of them, dreaming of herself as being smarter or brighter in some way only because she was older and had had more time to gain knowledge._)

Molly smiled at James again, who blinked up at her happily, his fingers brushing against Molly's cheek, soft and gentle, like he was stroking a kitten, and Molly couldn't help but laugh.

He was so terribly innocent, so sweet at this age-she wanted to hold close forever and refuse to ever let him turn five.

_Stay four forever, James, it's much easier being four than it is being five, six, seven, or eight._

"I'm fine, James, I'm fine. My whole body is buzzing like a beehive right now, but I'm fine. Are you okay, buddy?" she asked him, using her sweetest, kindest voice, because he was still giving her funny looks, like he thought she might be sick.

She smiled so much it hurt, trying to regain that quickly fading feeling of euphoria from a few minutes ago.

Where was the childlike happiness just a few months ago?

Something had happened since she turned eight-she'd been getting colder and more closed-off from her family, even the ones who, before all this nonsense, had been some of her best friends.

Molly so desperately wanted to be happy all the time, to see the world as James did, so delicately innocent, without a care in the world.

"Mummy's got biscuits in the cupboard, but James knows where to find 'em," the little boy said, pulling himself up onto his feet, looking down at Molly with an expectant glance. She couldn't help but laugh for real this time, following him into the kitchen to find his hidden biscuits. "She's got all sorts of flavours-chocolate and sugary and yummy tasting biscuits. Can Molly reach up there?" He asked, pointing at a shelf above their head.

"Yeah, I can reach," she said, clambering up the cupboard shelves to grab the biscuit tin for James. He gave her a wide smile, eagerly grabbing it out of her hands, immediately grabbing biscuits from the tin and nibbling on them.

He was a sweet child, Molly thought to herself.

_So innocent_.

She wanted to be four again, she wanted hugs from Mummy and sweets with Daddy.

Molly wanted to live with that same childlike wonder that James had.

"Molly's okay," James said loudly, giving her a chocolate-covered, toothy smile that made Molly want to laugh-and cry all at the same time, because he was so sweet and childish and she liked the Potter home, where she could be just as childish as James.

She liked it here, where innocence was still so prevalent.

She'd like to be innocent again.

….

_**Sorry, I try to avoid end notes, but I just want to state that I feel that Molly, though still very young herself, has had to grow up a lot, seeing as how both of her parents work rather high-profile jobs with the ministry, and Molly stays at home with her little sister, who doesn't have the best mental health. It's, lots of times, Molly and Lucy and a baby-sitter, and by the time she's turned eight, Molly is much more mature than some kids her age. **_


	27. Molly&Rose: Threat

_March 17, 2006_

Molly stared down at the tiny infant in her auntie Hermione's arm, sounding out the baby's name in her mind.

Ro-ooose, they'd told her, the baby's name was Rose, just a few days old and fresh out of the hospital like an apple picked up from the market.

(Molly didn't like her.)

She thought Ro-ooose was a very ugly baby with a too-red face, and she squalled too much, waving her little arms around and demanding attention.

Baby Rose was, in Molly's opinion, a threat.

She was the eigth little cousin to be born so far, and Molly was beginning to worry that this might mean less time for her.

After all, ever since Lucy had come around, Mummy and Daddy hadn't had very much time for Lucy-and Lucy was already two years old, with her wobbly legs and tottering steps.

Did this mean Auntie Hermione would stop coming by to read to her, now that she had her own daughter to read to?

Did this mean Uncle Ron wouldn't teach her how to play Wizard's Chess anymore?

(After all, she didn't fully understand the rules yet, but now Uncle Ron had his own baby to teach.)

Molly really hoped that this wasn't just one more baby that would take her aunts and uncles and her grandparents away from her.

"Do you see how pretty she is, Molly?" Daddy was saying, holding her up so she could see Rose. Molly shook her head-she did _not _think stupid baby Rose was pretty, not at all. She was just a fat, red-faced, ugly baby, and Molly hated her. She hated this stupid baby, who was a threat to Molly, and who was a threat to any future attention Molly might get, which so far today had been _not a lot. _"She's got her mother's pretty hair already."

"I have _your_ hair, Daddy." Molly insisted in a tight voice, tugging on his sleeve, but Percy only laughed and set her down on the floor, telling her to run off and go find Victoire.

Except Molly didn't want to _go find Victoire_, she wanted to get rid of stupid Rose, who was cooing and blinking in her mum's arm.

Stupid baby-she didn't even do anything _useful_, like talking or playing house.

Molly wished the Nargles would take stupid Rose; Auntie Luna had told her that Nargles _always _took away naughty children, and Rose must have been _very _naughty to have been born so ugly.

She wished very much that the Nargles would come swooping in and snatch Rose right up from Auntie Hermione's arms and fly off with her.

_That _would be nice, and then Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron would remember that it was _Molly _who they liked, not stupid, useless Rose.

But the Nargles didn't come, maybe because they didn't know just how naughty baby Rose was.

Molly scrunched up her nose as she walked out of the sitting room, scowling as the adults continued to praise baby Rose.

Stupid baby-babies were a threat to Molly, all of them, she decided, and she didn't like babies.

All they did was poop and scream and make everyone stop paying attention to Molly, who was so much cleverer and prettier than a dumb baby.

She _especially _hated stupid, ugly baby Rose.

….

_August 3, 2012_

Molly closed the book she had been reading, a story called _Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter._

It was, to her, boring, not at all enthralling, and completely implausible-not to mention a little to _Left Behind _for her taste. It had been another waste of a Thursday afternoon, but at least it had stopped raining outside.

It was yet another boring afternoon locked up at Grandma Molly's house with her younger cousins, waiting for school to start up again.

Molly hated summer time, when she had to pretend like she enjoyed family dinners-she couldn't wait for September first, when she'd finally get to go to Hogwarts.

Teddy and Victoire made it sound like such fun, and it was probably better than hanging around with all the little babies.

Even Lucy was just eight years old, still sucking her thumb and demanding bed time stories. Didn't anyone understand how important this very last summer was?

It was her last chance to study before Hogwarts, to make sure she knew as much as possible before they shopped her off.

And yet, they'd stuck her in the same room as a bunch of childish little girls-Lucy, yet, but also Dominique and, worst of all, _Rose. _

Dominique and Lucy were nine and eight, respectively, and at least knew how to dress themselves; but Rose was only six, and needed assistance with her pants, lest she put them on backwards.

Molly didn't like being in the same room with such a _little kid_, who still needed baby-sitting. Molly was about to be a Hogwarts student-she didn't _baby-sit _six year olds.

And besides that, Rose seemed to always get into some sort of trouble that required the assistance of Molly to get her out of.

Recently, she'd tried climbing a tree, but had gotten scared about four or five branches up and screamed bloody murder until Molly pulled her down.

_And_, there was the time she had managed to fall off her tricycle and cut her arms-Molly had carried her back to the Burrow and put plaster on her elbow.

Overall, Rose was such a terrible threat to her own wellbeing and Molly was tired of taking care of the silly little girl.

"_Molly!_" Rose shrieked from downstairs, and Molly sighed, tossing _Good Omens _to the floor and clattering down the stairs, only to find that Rose and Albus had managed to explode the biscuit batter that Victoire had been planning on using for desert.

It covered the entire kitchen, including the two children, who were giggling madly and licking the batter off of their hands.

"Hi, Molly-we made a mess." Rose said with a wide smile, and Molly wanted to strangle her right then and there.

No doubt their grandparents would be home soon and it wasn't _Victoire _who would be in trouble.

(Because no one _ever _blamed the ever perfect Torie.)

Instead, it would be Molly who was chastised, Molly who was threatened, and Molly alone who would be punished every time.

She _really _didn't like Rose.


	28. Molly&Albus: Guess

_December 20, 2017_

Albus shifted from one leg to the other as he waited on the doorstep, his fingers growing numb even wrapped up inside his gloves and stuffed inside his coat pockets.

His cap was knitted green to match his eyes, and he was burning up inside, red with anger but green eyes hiding it as he scowled up at his Uncle Percy's house.

It was -10 degrees Celsius outside, with snow piling up all the way down the block, covering trees and driveways, leaving everything wet and slippery; Albus had already tripped three times now, not that he was the most graceful of children to begin with, even without considering the braces that helped him walk.

He shivered lightly, kicking at some loose snow that covered his uncle's house, wondering when Molly would come out and join him, like she'd promised she would.

It was nearly Christmas, Hogwarts had let out just last Tuesday much to the eleven year old's relief, and Albus wasn't too sure how keen he was on visiting some of his older cousins, only Mum had insisted that he at least stop by and say hi to Molly, seeing as how he'd been rather mean to her in August.

Albus didn't think he'd been very mean, certainly not enough to warrant a visit to Uncle Percy's, but he guessed him did have a point when she'd reminded him that the two cousins had not spoken a word to each other since August.

Still, she was probably making him wait out on the steps just to be obnoxious. Molly didn't seem to be too terribly fond of him right now, considering she hadn't sent him even a little note or present to him since their argument, not even to congratulate him for getting into Gryffindor.

His left leg was getting numb and Albus shifted to his right side, knocking sharply on the door once again.

Albus was tempted to brush the snow off of Uncle Percy's steps and just sit down until Molly eventually (_maybe_) came out to greet him, but the bricks felt soaked completely through when he scraped his hand against them.

Albus scowled and kicked at a bit of snow that had lightly clustered around his snow boots, and he wished he could be just about anywhere but here, waiting on a cousin that probably wouldn't ever show up.

He hated waiting, hated guessing whether or not Molly would even let him in, or if he'd have to trudge back home and admit that he hadn't even talked to her.

Albus especially hated the fact that Uncle Percy had moved so close to them, giving the adults an insane impression that their children would make friends and want to constantly be together; all it had done was lead to a horrible fights that made Albus want to scream.

Just as Albus was about to leave-because this wasn't freaking worth it, waiting on Molly, who clearly didn't want to even talk to him-the door creaked open and Molly peeked out at him somewhat shyly.

He felt like she was peering at him through a magnifying glass.

She was some five years older than he was, but she carried herself like a scared child, shaking and avoiding his eye contact, her cheeks blushing pink from the cold and from apparent embarrassment as she smiled shyly down at him.

Albus sighed, indicating that he wanted to be let in, but Molly only continued to stare at him.

Albus might have felt bad for the older girl-she was terribly awkward and shy-except he was still kind of mad at Molly for leaving him to wait outside for fifteen minutes; he was cold and wet, and still rather angry-Albus didn't feel like being in the friendliest of moods, currently, but Molly only continued to stare at him from the cracked doorway, like a bemused puppy, giving him a shy, not overly happy glance.

"Hey, Albie," she muttered, her brown and blue eyes staring down at him with something akin to vague confusion, like she couldn't even begin to guess why he'd be at her doorstep. "How is it going? How is your...family? You, uh, you do not normally stop by here, do you?"

Albus rolled his eyes internally, bristling both at her ridiculous use of excessive formality and also her referring to him as..._Albie_, like he was still six years old.

What he wanted to say was: "Well, my mom's shoved me down here to say hi, even though I'm still not over what happened in August, but I guess we're just supposed to pretend like it's nothing and continue on as best friends forever, like we were little children."

Instead, because Albus was usually a _nice kid_, he merely shrugged in a casual manner-or, rather, he tried to shrug casually, but only managed to look bothered-and remained silent.

He had hurt Molly's feelings once already-he didn't feel like upsetting the sensitive older girl once more.

He also didn't necessarily feel like apologising to her, either, but Mum was going to ask him if he had when Albus went back home, and then he'd feel guilty about _not _apologising to Molly, and Mum would most likely just send him back again.

"I'm sorry, Molly-" he started to say, just as she began to ask-"So, I guess Aunt Ginny sent you over here to apologise, since we have not spoken in several months?"

Albus blushed, reminded once again that Molly was five years older than he and five years smarter than he; she had probably expected his eventual-forced-apology.

Molly gave him a half-smile, one eyebrow raised questioningly, and he nodded, wishing he hadn't even said anything at all to her in the first place.

"Yeah," he replied, the phrase _foot in your mouth_ having not yet occurred to him. "I guess she did."

Molly smiled at him, still mostly hidden by her front door, and though she was older and smarter than Albus, Molly always managed to give him a sense of pure insecurity, like she was about to unravel in a bundle of frayed nerves.

Still, with her looking down at him, it was now _he _who felt unsure.

"Um, I, uh...I guess that, yeah, I'm, you know, sorry about, um, what happened back in August and-"

"Are you really, though?" she asked him bluntly, eyes narrowing almost cheerfully as he blinked at her in confusion. "You come over here with your '_I guess_' and '_you know', _but I am not sure if mean it even a little bit. Do you even truly remember what you did-what _I _did-to start this whole mess? Don't guess, now," she said somewhat sharply, as he had opened his mouth to respond. "Don't just make a guess and hope you are right-really _try _to remember what happened. What happened in August that made us both so mad?"

"I, uh...I told Lucy that she was weird..." he said slowly. "I told her that she was weird and she unsettled me, and I thought there was something off about her that made me feel uncomfortable...she started crying, I think." As he spoke, Albus only felt even guiltier, remembering what he'd said to Lucy, who _was _a little strange, but who was also rather sensitive. "I...told her that because she kept asking me if I could see the spirits that hung around Grandma Molly's house and...I wanted her to leave me alone."

"Yeah, that is _exactly _what you said Albus, directly to m_y _little sister, who is a rather sensitive girl, and I hope you understand the effect of what you said to Lucy _had _on her-what it did to me, because guess who she came crying to after it all happened? She certainly didn't beg Mum to scoop her up in a big hug."

"I'm sorry, Molly…I guess I wasn't thinking-"

"Please, Albus, just don't ever, _ever _say anything like that to my younger sister _ever _again. Don't guess how others feel or how yours words could affect them-_know _that some of the things you say can hurt them. Think about what you say before you actually say it, Albie, because guessing is just going to get someone hurt."

"I'm really sorry, Molly, I honestly am…" he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Just get inside, you dolt, before we all freeze to death," Molly said, the formal tone dropping from her voice as she opened the door for him, a small smile forming in the corners of her mouth.


	29. Molly&Lily: Blue

_December 18, 2016 _

Lily helped her mother roll the dough for her biscuits, scowling as she heard her brothers screaming happily outside about something that she could not quite see.

She hated baking biscuits-and baking in general-, trapped in her mother's heated kitchen while everyone else got to go play outside.

Mum was baking biscuits and a pie for the Christmas party that the Weasleys held every year, and she had managed to rope her only daughter into helping out, much to Lily's chagrin.

"Can I go play now?" Lily asked, as her mother slid one of the many sheets into the oven-Lily had counted, and this was the fifth sheet of biscuits they had made. Mum wiped her hands off with a rag, scrubbing dough off with the faded piece of cloth.

Lily herself was covered in dough, with clumps stuck in her hair and covering her freckled face. Mum smiled, swiping away the dough on Lily's cheek as Lily repeated her question with a tad bit of impatience.

"I suppose you may, yes, since you've been such a big help," Mum said teasingly, handing Lily her gloves and hat. Lily took them gratefully, shrugging on her heavy jacket and headed for the door, wishing it was cold enough to snow so she could rope her visiting cousins into building a snowman with her. "Remind the older kids that we're going to go pick up Daddy this evening, okay, Lily? We don't want to be late, right?"

Lily nodded, grinning as she remembered the letter from her father, which stated that he would be back on the nineteenth of December, just in time for the Weasley Christmas party.

Lily couldn't wait to see her father, who had been on a mission since James went off to Hogwarts in September.

Daddy had left by Portkey, and that was how he'd be coming back as well, and Lily couldn't wait to see him again.

The young girl rushed outside to where her brothers were huddled around their older cousin, Lucy, who was sitting on her low-hovering broomstick, biting the side of her thumb with a pensive look on her face, as if contemplating her entire existence until this very moment.

Lucy was twelve, strange, and Lily loved her like mad.

Her older sister, Molly, in contrast was fifteen, bossy and cold towards most of her family.

Lily liked her cousin Molly well enough, but Molly didn't seem to care much about anyone else.

(Once, Lily had overheard a conversation between her Uncle Percy and Daddy about Molly. They had used a lot of words Lily didn't quite understand, like "psychiatric help", "Asperger's Syndrome", or "Obsessive-Compulsive".)

Molly, now, was standing off to the side, apart from the others, seeming content to only watch as her little sister kicked off on her broom, her purple hat pulled tightly over her bright auburn hair.

"Isn't Lucy a brilliant flier, Molly?" Lily asked the older girl, who had begun to fiddle with the ends of her light blue dress in an effort to keep from screaming.

Molly hated flying, hated watching her sister kick at blue empty sky before coming hurtling back to the ground below. Molly hated flying almost as much as Lily loved flying.

"Don't you think she's an amazing flier, Molly?" Lily asked her cousin again; Molly had stopped fiddling with her dress and was now adjusting her hair, pulling her hat off to reveal two blue barrettes tightly placed in her hair. Molly squinted up at Lucy, who was skimming the top of one of her Uncle Harry's trees. "Maybe next year, she'll be on Hufflepuff's Quidditch team."

"Mama would never allow such a thing," Molly said with barely contained contempt, sniffing in a manner that was nearly what one might call haughty-but not quite. "She barely enjoys pretending to entertain the notion of Lucy on this little toy of hers, and _this _one only goes up to about ten metres, at best."

"Why doesn't Aunt Audrey like Lucy flying?" Lily asked with the innocence often accompanied by children as sheltered as she. "Has she never seen Lucy fly before? Perhaps if she had, Aunt Audrey would okay with Lucy flying? I think she's a brilliant flier."

Molly only gave her little cousin a somewhat withering glance, as she realised her fingers had tugged at the blue barrettes, pulling them from her hair and fiddling with them.

Molly let her hands drop her sides and began to stalk off towards the back of her uncle's garden, where a small pond lay, making a tinkling sound as the water hit the blue stones over and over.

The pond was the only thing Molly really liked at the Potter house, and Lily had once watched Molly creep out from their home at night just to sit on the cold stone edge that their father had built around the pond.

The water was clear blue, cleaned every Sunday, when Albus and Lily fished out the leaves and scrubbed the stone sides.

Sometimes they went swimming, but in December, it was too cold to even think about, let alone bother pulling your swimsuit out for.

Molly sat on the edge now, reaching down to stir the water with her fingers; Lily watched her as Molly rested her hand on top of the water, staring at her own reflection.

"Rest, relax, refresh, renew." She whispered to the watery girl below, who had big blue-and-brown eyes and tightly pursed lips. "Rest, relax, refresh, renew-calm down, calm yourself, Molly. Rest, relax, refresh, renew."

A redheaded girl appeared calmly in the water beside Molly, a watery reflection, and the real Molly turned to look at her real-life cousin.

"Daddy used to say that our reflections were a bit like Polyjuice Potion-they were us, but they're under disguises, trying to hide who they really were underneath." Lily said quietly as Molly continued to swirl their reflections in the water, which quickly began to disappear in a circle of bubbly, murky blue, leaving two indistinguishable shapes.

"Wha do you think they'd be trying to hide, though, Molly? What would a reflection even have to hide, do you think? I think they can grant wishes-I've been asking them to bring Daddy back safely, and now he is-they're bringing him back tonight."

"They did not answer your wish, Lily." Molly said shortly to her younger cousin, watching as the blue water settled once more, bringing back the slightly rippled copies of them in the water. "Reflections do not grant wishes, they do not fix mistakes, they are not hiding anything from you. They're only reflections-that is it, Lily. Grow up already!"

Lily looked hurt, tears springing to her eyes as she ran back towards the boys and Lucy, her red hair going wild in the wind.

Molly sighed, not feeling overly guilty, and she turned towards the pond water again, splashing it harshly with her hand, getting to her feet with an annoyed groan.

This was _not _her fault-Lily was being immature and childish.

Molly certainly had not behaved so silly when she was eight years old, and it did not make sense that Lily insisted on doing so all the time, like she enjoyed being so childish.

Molly walked away from the clear blue water, ignoring the glares from her cousins as she walked into the house, wishing her younger cousins could just grow up and act more mature.

Honestly, they were like children.


	30. Molly&Hugo: Honor

_January 19, 2041_

_"My cousin Hugo died in a skirmish twenty-nine days ago. _

_He was just thirty-two years old, with his wand in his hand, fighting until the very end._

_Hugo has died a hero-he died honourably in combat against the enemy, fighting for the safety of his fellow soldiers and for the freedom of everyone he knew._

_Hugo died insisting that there was nothing more he could do, and that there was no other way he would want to die, other than defending his country. _

_Hugo Weasley was an honourable man to his very last, and though we shall miss him very much, we know he died as he lived, with honour and respect."_  
>…<p>

_December 11, 2021 _

Moly laughed quietly at Peter's joke, taking a sip of her drink as she glanced around at her fellow guests that celebrated on the dance floor or clustered around other tables.

Roxanne was spinning in Albus' arms, giggling as he lifted her up.

Rose was dancing gracefully with her (maybe, Rose didn't seem sure if they were dating or not) girlfriend, a pale-faced, pale-haired girl named Hannai.

Teddy and Victoire-the man and woman of the hour-sat side by ad eat the head table, eating cake and whispering happily to each other.

It had been a happy day, overall, watching as Teddy and Victoire declaring their vows in front of a large group consisting of families and friends.

This day had been a long day coming, and even now, the bubbly excitement seemed to be infused within everyone, making the party feel even happier than they normally were.

Molly's gaze fell on her younger cousin, Hugo, who was standing by the door, stoic and silent and alone. He was only thirteen, but he held himself like a man twice as old as that, and his eyes followed the tiny movements of those around him.

His spine was completely straight, like a rule was holding him up, and Molly recalled that he had been standing this way, spine pulled tight, since the wedding had begun.

(Had he ever relaxed?)

She recalled the young boy mentioning that he intended on one day joining the Phoenix, which was a freelance little army with only the slightest of connections to its predecessor, the Order of the Phoenix.

They claimed to keep the peace, an _honourable_ goal that had gotten seven people killed last March, according to the Daily Prophet.

Uncle Ron wouldn't stand for the idea of sending his only son running off to die in a war-not after...but they didn't speak of that anymore.

Watching the young redhead guarding the door like he already _was _a soldier, Molly could see the future warrior hiding in him.

He seemed to feel honour-bound, as well as duty-bound, to watch over the festivities without ever even being asked.

His wand was firmly clutched in ready fingers, his gaze harsh and cold-he was tense and prepared for the worst.

_He really is a soldier already. _Molly thought to herself, and she was actually rather saddened by the very thought, because Hugo was only thirteen, still a mere child with years and years ahead of him.

…

_January 19, 2041_

_"We weren't terribly close as children-I was seven years older than he, which meant I had seven years of experience of a life without Hugo, something I will once again have to get used to._

_And Hugo was a terribly shy little boy from the very beginning-he stuttered, as many of you know firsthand, and he usually refrained from ever talking._

_But he drew and he painted sometimes, and I'm sure he always dreamt of one day proving his valour and his honour. _

_As far as I'm concerned, Hugo never needed to prove his honour to anyone-he was a brave, strong, determined man who would save anyone and do anything you needed of him._

_He always was an honourable man, and he didn't need to fight to tell me such things._

_He attended the baptism of my twins, you know, nearly two and a half years ago, standing there as an older cousin, ready to swear to protect them, though no one had even asked him to-he swore to keep them safe and protect these two young infants until the very end. _

_He loved to help and protect those around him, even if he didn't know them or had no connection to them. He lived in and with honour, and my cousin, Hugo? He will be buried in his honour."_

…

_July 31, 2030_

Hugo had gotten taller since they'd last met-really, really tall, with broader shoulders and a strange clench in his jaw.

Already, he had an air of fierce determination to him, giving Molly a sense of anger and toughness and just overall a need to fight.

Hugo smelled of death, of holding onto friends who bled out, clinging to those who slept permanently, never to wake again.

He scared Molly just a little bit, not only because he had seen death a hundred times before, but because was only twenty-two years old, no longer a child, but still so terribly young.

She did not like seeing the coldness in his eyes, the way he seemed to cling to his sense of honour as tightly as friends and foes died around him.

He met her gaze with a steady eye, giving Molly a smile that did nothing to reassure the older woman about his sanity.

She was looking at this shell of a man, warped and changed by war, scarred and marred and marked-yet, after everything, so strongly trying to maintain his appearance of valour and honour.

He was faking it, of course, Molly could see right through him, but Hugo was determined to not let most people see how much it hurt to bury his friends, those who were just as young as him, or younger.

Molly wanted to comfort him, but Hugo was no longer a scared young boy in need of a hug-he was changed by war so very much. This was no longer her shy little cousin-this was a soldier.

The soldiering tendencies from his childhood has not gone away or died off-rather, it had grown stronger and fiercer. He gave off a sense of stoic toughness, unbreakable.

His eyes, normally a dark blue, now seemed much darker, almost like onyx, as though there was something in him that was not right.

Hugo did not seem to be the sweet, innocent little boy she remembered from even a few years ago-he was cold, like stone, harsh and distant.

Molly had watched him over the past few hours as Christmas dinner went underway; she had watched him avoid conversation, deflect questions, his onyx coloured eyes unblinking as everyone talked around him.

Molly did not like this new young man, so obsessed with honour and valour and being heroic-she wanted the sweet, delicate child that she remembered Hugo being.

There was no honour to be found in selling your soul for war.

…

_January 19, 2041_

"_Hugo was…a complicated sort of person, I guess you could say. He didn't ever seem to say much, even when he did get over his stutter. _

_He didn't speak unless necessary, and he was rather closed off._

_I originally assumed it was because of his speaking problem-later in life, I wondered if it wasn't connected to the death of his mother. _

_Either way, Hugo was quiet, but there was certainly one thing he made sure everyone knew about him: he didn't want anyone to dishonour him or his family._

_Hugo was just crazy about honour, you know._

_All he ever wanted in life was to die with his honour." _


	31. Molly&Roxanne: Shooting Star

_July 8, 2024_

"When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are-"Molly followed the sounds of singing up the stairs, leaving her uncle's shop below her.

Downstairs, it is noisy and messy and crowded, but upstairs, the air is cooler and the only sound is singing.

Disney tunes-it could only be Roxanne listening to her old, dying CD player that she so stubbornly refused to throw out or update.

It had been found on the curb, alongside a bunch of other junk about five years ago, and Roxanne had convinced Fred to fix it up for her; she still wouldn't get rid of it, even though it crackled and the sound was warped, and it would sometimes fall silent if she moved around too much.

The normally rather bubbly girl had grown quite in the past year, becoming thinner and paler, her eyes widening every time someone talked to her; Molly was reminded of the perpetually scared and nervous rabbit that she had used to own.

Molly was also reminded of her own sister, who even now, lay curled up in her bed, terrified to come out of the tiny apartment that the two girls shared.

Uncle George had called upon Molly to come speak to his young daughter, asking her if she talk the two girls could speak to each other; Molly wasn't quite sure what she could do for the girl, but Uncle George had insisted, and Molly didn't think she could say no.

With work keeping her busy, she hadn't been able to stop by until that evening, yet the shop had still been bustling with students freshly released from school, cramming the joke shop in an effort to buy fake vomit.

Aunt Angelina had smiled apologetically as she let Molly in, pointing her upstairs.

The singing had gotten louder as she climbed up the stairs, reaching the landing above the shop; the flat was dark, lights turned off, and the only noise she could hear was the gentle singing from her cousin's CD player.

"Roxy?" she called out, and the music shut off immediately, leaving behind only heavy silence that made Molly crave the noise of downstairs.

Roxanne stuck her head out of her doorway, blinking with heavy eyes at Molly, who waved weakly.

"What do you want?" the teenager asked, but she had already wandered back into her room, her heavy, dark braid swinging behind her like an angry snake, judging Molly with every breath she took. "You can come in, if you really must." Roxanne called out.

Molly had never been in Roxanne's room, though, just upon walking in, it was obvious this could not have belonged to anyone else.

There were paper moons-lanterns-hanging everywhere, and pictures covered the mirrors, every single inch of it.

There were painting of the sun and moon everywhere, shooting stars raining down from the ceiling. Black danced amongst bright, bright _yellow _and Molly was amazed by the beauty of it all.

"Pretty room, isn't it?" Roxanne said darkly from where she was sitting on a chair decorated to look like a giant star. "I want to be an astronomer one day," she explained, pointing Molly towards the bed, where shooting stars fought for her attention, spreading across the blankets and down the floor.

Molly loved the room-it was much prettier than the little flat she shared with her sister and her sometimes-boyfriend, Peter.

Watching Roxanne fiddle with one of the stars, however, she was reminded of why she had been called by her uncle and aunt.

Before she could say or do anything, though, Roxanne had already looked up, her eyes narrowed at she glanced at Molly, head tilted in thought.

"Mum and Dad sent you, didn't they? To talk to me, right, because of what my professors said?" Molly nodded, and Roxanne sighed, staring out the window. "I don't know why they'd even bother with it. I mean, it's been nearly a year, right? And now…just because some of my professors are worried about me, they think I might be depressed or something."

"Uh…are you?" Molly asked tentatively. The girl certainly didn't look it; Molly had seen depression before-it was a battle her little sister fought daily, trying to prevent the blanket from consuming her entirely

. Roxanne, however, mostly just carried a haunted look in her eyes-she was quieter than she had once been, but she didn't seem to be…eaten away at.

"No…" Roxanne placed a hand on the window, pulling away so it left a mark. "No, regardless of what they think. I'm not depressed, I'm not suicidal, I just…it's hard sometimes, you know? Really hard, waking up every morning, going about my day….but at least it's usually not too difficult, as long as I accept the truth."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you're not…suicidal." The word alone scared her, memories of walking into the bathroom to find Lucy covered in her own blood, sobbing wildly, unsure of how she had even gotten there. "It's just…Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, they're…they're worried about you, is all. They say you've been rather quiet recently and…"

"They're worried because my grades dropped-_that's _why they're worried, because I'm not doing as well in school, and clearly, it has to be because I'm upset, and not because school has gotten harder for me, intellectually. They can't even fathom the idea that maybe my whole world view _does not revolve around what happens to this family._"

She was sobbing now, dry, heaving sobs that made her shoulders shake.

Molly got up from the bed to comfort her, glad when the teenager didn't push her away or demand she leave.

She just turned towards Molly, crying into her shirt, murmuring nonsense like a child.

Molly didn't speak, just held her cousin tightly like she might a baby.

She let Roxanne cling to her like Victoire's little newborn son clung to Molly every time she was forced to hold the child, the way Lucy's son might have…but no, Molly was here to focus on _Roxanne._

The two of them sat by the window for a while, as Roxanne blubbered nonsensically and Molly offered her tissues-she carried them with her constantly-and listened to her speak.

Molly had always considered doing something with children, troubled teenagers maybe, but it was sitting here, side by side with her little cousin as she wiped away tears, that she knew that this was what she had always wanted to do with her life.

After a while, Roxanne slowed down to little more than hiccups, looking up at Molly with embarrassed eyes; she had clearly not cried like that in front of another person in ages.

It was possible she had never cried in front of another person since she was an infant. Roxanne was friendly, usually, but she had always held herself back just a bit, hiding behind a curtain.

"I'm sorry-that was stupid of me." Roxanne said, looking away, but Molly merely shook her head, taking the fourteen year old's hands in her own, facing the window.

They sat there in silence for a minute, Roxanne hiding her face, and Molly trying to make her smile.

"It's okay to cry, Roxy," Molly told the young girl in her most comforting voice. "No one will think less of you if you cry, and if they do, I'll sock 'em for you." Roxanne gave her a tiny smile, imagining prim, tiny Molly punching someone for her.

"Look outside, Molly," Roxanne said, directing her attention out at the sky. The moon was new and dark, and from this angle, Molly could not even make out the shadows beyond the window. It was dark outside, but as they stared up at the night sky, something bright and oh, so _yellow _came crashing down.

"A star!" Roxanne shrieked, leaping up, all tears forgotten as she pointed up at the falling star. "A shooting star, Molly! A shooting star, did you see it? A shooting star, make a wish, Molly, make a wish-quick, before it disappears!"

Molly made a wish quickly as the shooting star disappeared from sight.


	32. Dominique&Molly: Unforeseen

_January 11, 2034_

The Next Generation: A Look at the Weasley Descendants

Chapter 3: Dominique Weasley

_The possibilities of tomorrow are limitless, endless, and can lead anywhere. _

_Unfortunately, they can also lead to unforeseen consequences that, in hindsight, might have made one change their mind about which path to take, which road to travel. _

_After all, if a road is less often traveled, wouldn't that make you question the integrity of the road? If a road is less traveled, what questions must that bring up about its loyalty to staying on the straight and narrow path?_

_If a road is less traveled, why would you trust it to bring you where you need to be? _

_When I was young, all anyone ever told me was that I would _go _places one day-I didn't understand what they meant as first, and I'm not sure I still do, but I'm beginning to figure it out, just a little. _

_They saw that my father was ambitious, and they assumed that I was, too._

_They saw that I was in Hufflepuff, and so it was assumed that I must be friendly and kind to everyone I meet. _

_They saw that I was a Weasley, and they assumed that I must love my family dearly. _

_My mother once told me that it was far too easy to trust me, because I had a nature about myself that relaxed people, that lent them this illusion that I could not and would not ever lie to them, that I would never be selfish and look anywhere but to myself._

_After all, I'm a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin, and Hufflepuffs are sweet, caring-they're interested in looking out for other people. Hufflepuffs don't have secrets, and they certainly don't lie about those secrets for years to come, so that the only people who knew were her and one other. But, as they say, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. _

_And Dominique has _been _dead for quite a while now, while I live far away from other humans, as I spend most of my time with the centaurs. It is autumn now, and the only two humans amongst over a hundred centaurs are my husband, Peter, and I. _

_I have not seen my cousin Dominique in over twelve years-no one else has seen her since Dominique ran away shortly before her nineteenth birthday._

_Of course, we've all started our own families, some later than others, and I know Dominique had two young girls hidden away somewhere. _

_I've got the pictures. _

_I know Dominique had lots of problems at school and home-there wasn't ever anything too terrible, no abuse or bullying or anything of that nature-but it was obvious Dominique suffered terribly from body issues, from feeling inadequate compared to other people, especially her older sister, Victoire. _

_I'm not sure how or why I ended up being the one who she confessed these secrets to-such things are, as Peter says, unforeseen; all I know is I became the one that Dominique would run to after a particularly nasty night of eating and binging, or when she took a razor to her soft skin, sobbing into my arms as she showed me the bloody bandages she hid under long sleeves. _

_No one else seemed to ever fully understand why it was that Dominique would have even considered running away to France, but I did know-she had just given up altogether on living and made one last frantic attempt at death after discovering her boyfriend, Robert, with a picture of Victoire, when he finally confessed he had fallen in love with the older girl; it only seemed to further confirm Dominique's suspicions that she'll always be second best to her perfect older sister. _

_The thing about Dominique is-she's stubborn, and when she gets her mind set on a fantasy, even an untrue, twisted one, it's hard to convince her otherwise. _

_Believe me when I say I loved Dominique as much as I was humanly capable of doing so. Believe me when I say I hated Dominique as much as I was humanly capable of doing so. She was my cousin and we were only a year and a half apart and she trusted me with all her secrets; she was also demanding and impatient and never seemed to realise the amount of pressure she was truly adding to my life. _

_But, I was a Hufflepuff, and I wad family, so I stood by her side and held her hand and listened to her confessions._

_I loved Dominique, regardless of her faults, but I hated her, because she wasn't able to look past her faults. _

_She could not look in the mirror and see what the rest of us saw-a beautiful, talented young girl who blossomed into a beautiful, talented young lady; a horrible mental illness was tearing her apart from the inside, and all I wanted to do was shake her until she got it through her head, even as I knew words like anorexia and bulimia were being thrown around as possibilities._

_I don't know how she "died" or when or where exactly, only that an official certificate was sent to Uncle Bill from France when I was twenty-three, and there was never a body that could be recovered. _

_And, so, we mourned her as Weasleys do when they lose someone-they gather and tell stories and cry loudly, and then they do their best to get over it._

_We had a private funeral for the middle child of William and Fleur Weasley, and we each mourned her in our own way as an empty casket was buried in the rain; it was best to do it then, when no one could see you cry, when it was easy to fake the tears on your cheeks. _

_There's a patch of ground in the Weasley family graveyard just for her. I know Victoire, Dominique's sister, has never quite gotten over it-nor has her brother, Louis. _

_I saw them at the last family gathering in the summer, Victoire and Teddy with their four children, and Louis with his new bride, Rayna. _

_They did not mention her out loud to others, but I could see the way Victoire's hands shook as Dad gave his usual toast to those that we have lost over the years-Uncle Fred, Uncle Charlie, Dominique, my cousin Cadence born to Uncle Ron and gone hours later, and even to my sister Lucy's unborn child. _

_I saw the tears in Louis' eyes as Uncle Percy spoke of her. _

_We all miss her, the bright girl who was always ready with a joke or a prank. _

_And I wish I had gone down a different path, a path that did not lead to a nineteen year old woman going missing and then being declared dead, but I can't help the mistakes I've made. All I can do is ensure that I don't make them again. _

_I loved my cousin more than I thought was possible, but she's gone now, and all I can do is stay behind and keep living without her. _

_She left me to keep her secrets, and for that I-_

...

Molly paused in her writing as she heard hooves outside, and then someone stopping just beside her tent.

The centaur named Calla ducked into Molly's tent, and she turned around to smile at the chestnut coloured horse-man shyly; her smile quickly froze and then disappeared altogether as she noticed the troubled look in his eye.

Was it possible something had happened in the past few hours that had escaped her notice?

She hadn't seen any strength creatures or heard any unusual noises; had something gone wrong with Favela, who was pregnant with her first foal, or maybe a rabbit had been found too close to the centaur property?

Molly tilted her head, curious and more than a little anxious, as Calla pawed at the ground, looking slightly awkward.

"We have….news," the centaur began, still pawing at the ground, though she was staring at Molly properly now, making sure she heard every word. "News concerning the human you have been waiting on, the one with the blonde hair, who you said ran away many years ago. The one you have been looking for as you live with us-Dominique, you call her? We believe she has been located, and that the stars shall lead us to her, but we must go with haste, or her position might be lost. If you could hurry and collect your things, we could be ready to go in twenty minutes-I will take you there myself, even if Barrick does get mad that I will be allowing you to ride on my back."

"This changes everything," Molly breathed, and she dove for her bag, running out the door, joining Calla and the other centaurs, where Peter was waiting patiently for her.

She couldn't keep the grin off her face as she ran, jumping up onto Calla's back, letting out a little cheer as they took off.

After twelve long years, she would finally be able to see her cousin again-maybe they could even go see the rest of the family and uncover the long-overdue truth about why Dominique's body had never been found.

_Hard to bury someone who's not yet dead, isn't it?_

The fact that the centaurs had found her now was completely unforeseen, but she laughed loudly anyway, already anxious to ride out as fast as possible.

She had a cousin to go meet.


	33. Dominique&Fred: Punctual

_Suppose we could ever be on time-_

Two hands on the clock, finally ticking correctly.

_Suppose we could ever be, what is it, punctual-_

Not just feet pounding on the stones, rushing.

_Suppose we could ever move fast enough-_

Wouldn't that just surprise everyone?

_Suppose we could ever run far enough-_

We still would be late to Heaven.

_Suppose we could ever try hard enough-_

Well, I've tried, buddy boy, and it's just not happening.

_Suppose I took your hand and flew faster than the birds-_

You'd fall into the ocean and take me down with you.

_Suppose I said I could be punctual, for once, if you gave me a chance-_

I'd like to see it happen, but I doubt it ever will.

_Suppose you ever believed in me, in what I can do-_

I've given you a chance, and all you do is disappoint me.

_What have I done, Dominique?_

When will you ever be on time, Fred?

….

_January 11, 2018_

It was only a small matter of genetics that connected the two of them-a sharing of DNA and a love of jokes, that was all and nothing more.

After all, he joked and pranked for the simple fact that he could, desiring that look of enjoyment and glee on other's faces when everything went well; she did it to differentiate herself, standing apart from her siblings, wanting to do something, wanting to be something, other than perfect Dominique, just like her perfect siblings.

She held no personally bound code of loyalty towards her younger cousin, no instinctive reaction to remain by his side through thick and thin-they were two people who shared their last names, and a love of pranking, nothing more.

Well, there was one thing more that connected Dominique to her younger cousin, Fred.

Neither one of them were very good at telling time or keeping track of it.

She could remember a number of times that the two of them had gotten into trouble for being late to one class or another; they used to bother their team Captains for being late to practice, and they'd end up in detention together, swapping stories about how they could never be punctual, never be on time, to this thing or that thing.

She liked those times in detention, no pretending like everything was perfect, no concerning yourself with any real problems than whatever boring assignment they'd been handed that particular day in detention.

They laughed about how the teachers would never understand them, and then go their separate ways, late as always.

And things might have continued like that forever and ever (_amen_) except that Dominique had decided to go to Hogsmeade by herself that particular weekend, partially because she liked being alone when it was cold outside and mostly everyone else was running about like pigeons.

The other reason was because her other Ravenclaw friends had complained that she took too long to get ready, and if she wanted to go with them, she'd had to get ready right _then_.

But, Dominique did things at her own pace, and so, she started the trek down to Hogsmeade all by herself, wrapped up in her warmest coat and a cute little hat with a bright purple star on the front-"_In case you ever get lost," Grandma Weasley said, smiling as she handed it to Dominique_-and Dominique hummed cheerily, glad that she was, for the moment, completely alone.

No one else around to bother her or judge her or rush her.

Just then, Dominique hit a particularly icy part of the road, and her boots slipped and slid across the snowy grounds, making her almost want to laugh if she hadn't been afraid of falling.

Already, she could just imagine collapsing to the ground in a pool of her own blood, left to die alone. Instead, she nearly collapsed on the side of the path, hit her head on a low-hanging tree branch and fell to the ground, head spinning and her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

_(Just a moment, because I've got to get to Hogsmeade to buy something for Mum as a Christmas present. Just a moment, and then I'll get back up. Oh, but it's so much nicer here than at school. I could sleep here all night, no one would notice. No one to judge me or compare me here in the snow. Really, it's just for a moment, and I'll get up-though, this is terribly nice)_

And she might have stayed that way for a very long time-her prediction might have come true, minus the blood-had her cousin Fred, late-as-usual, decided to turn the corner just then, albeit much more carefully.

"Domi? Domi, is that you? Dominique, are you okay?" Fred demanded, sliding his way over to where she lay in the snow, blonde hair spread around her like some strange halo.

She was breathing calmly, at least, and nothing seemed to be bent too oddly-it seemed like she had just slipped and fallen unconscious for a moment.

In fact, Dominique was already opening her eyes, sitting up groggily.

Fred threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly, glad she was okay.

After all, he wasn't much a Healer, and he probably wouldn't have been able to carry Dominique if she needed to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

"Are you okay? I just showed up, and you were laying in the snow as if…..as if…..oh, I was afraid something had happened to you! You scared me, Domi!"

"It's a good thing you showed up, then," Dominique said quietly, taking his hand as he helped her stand up. Fred gave her a crooked grin and nodded. "I'm real lucky you can never bother to be punctual to anything of this nature. I could have been out here for hours and gotten really hurt."

Fred nodded again, hooking the crook of his elbow with hers, leading her back up the path to the school-he wanted to get her to Madame Luxe, the school nurse who had taken over about six years back, quickly, just in case something _was _wrong with Dominique that wasn't obvious.

She was her cousin and he was a Gryffindor, which meant he'd remain loyal to his family, and protect them. Of course.

He took her hand, noticing a brief flash of strange lines on Dominique's left arm, but she only blushed, shoving her sleeves down her arm, and giving him a calm smile.

"I'm so glad you rescued me, Fred." Dominique said quietly, meaning every bit of it as she tried to distract him from the lines on her arm.

"Yeah," Fred said absently. He wasn't so sure the rescuing was quite done yet.

….

_Suppose I said I loved you, my cousin-_

I'd call you a liar, no one loves me.

_Suppose I said we are all here for you-_

Where were you when I needed you most?

_Suppose I said I was with you all along-_

I'm looking, but I don't see you.

_Suppose I pulled you up from your sea of despair-_

You've run out of time and I'm already gone.

_Suppose I said all I want is to see you smile-_

Why do you even bother caring anymore?

_Suppose I said I'm always there when you need me-_

We'll be late to our own funerals.

_Suppose I said I want to hold your hand-_

I'm tired of it all, and I'm tired of you.

_Suppose I said our time here is almost done-_

I'd tell you we were done forever ago, and you're late again.

_Why won't you let me help you, Dominique? _

Why do you even try to bother helping me, Fred?


	34. Dominique&Lucy: Apple

_April 12, 2011_

_Dominique_

Dominique wasn't so sure she had ever wanted anything more in her entire life than she wanted that necklace just then, staring at the precious stones set amongst gold curls, greed bubbling up inside of her.

She _needed _that necklace, no matter that it was eight whole galleons, and her pocket change was only four sickles a week-which, for the record, she kept foolishly spending on things like sweets or little snap bracelets that were quickly lost or given off to other friends as presents.

Currently, Dominique only had three galleons, certainly not enough for the beautiful necklace that she just _had _to have.

Dominique just wasn't very good with money-it wasn't her fault, really-but in that moment, she knew she just _had _to have that necklace by any means possible.

And she had to have it now, because there was simply no telling what other little girl, who didn't want the necklace nearly so bad as Dominique, might come by and beg their mother for it.

It just wouldn't be fair!

….

_Lucy_

Lucy munched away quietly on her apple, watching her cousin, Dominique, staring longingly at a necklace in the shop window.

Lucy wasn't so sure why she seemed to be so very fascinated by the necklace-it was shiny, sure, but wasn't all jewellery shiny and bright and decorative?

Lucy wasn't sure why this particular one would be any nicer than all the others, or why Dominique seemed to be glaring so harshly at it, as if she resented the necklace for being in the shop instead being in Dominique's hand.

Really, Lucy thought to herself, taking another bite of the apple and shaking her head, some people were just so silly about things like this.

Maybe it was just a part of being older that Lucy didn't quite understand, yet-one of those _when you're older _things her mum was always talking about.

….

_Dominique_

"What are you doing, Domi?" asked a quiet voice behind her, and Dominique spun around to see her younger cousin, Lucy, who was munching away on an apple more red than her hair, and seemed to be very puzzled as she came up beside Dominique to stare at the necklace in the shop window.

Anger and jealousy bubbled up inside Dominique as she thought in a panicked manner-_what if Lucy wants the necklace? She can't have it, I want it more, and I want it more than she ever could! It's mine! Mine!_

Resentment filled her at the very thought, and Dominique was almost tempted to shove Lucy down and seize the necklace before anyone else could.

But, then, she shook her head, trying to clear it, and she realised how ridiculous that sounded. Then again….Lucy was bound to have some money on her-maybe enough to buy the necklace!

….

_Lucy_

Lucy didn't much care for the way Dominique was staring at her, almost hungrily, and she considered stepping away to enjoy her apple somewhere else, but decided that might seem rude to her older cousin.

"Did you need something, Domi?" She took another look at the necklace, just in case it might have gotten prettier while they were talking, but it still just looked like a cheap piece of metal, not very impressive at all. "It's a very nice necklace, don't you think?" she said politely, and frowned in confusion as Dominique scowled at her angrily, her eyes lighting up possessively.

Lucy was reminded strongly of that weird 'hobbit' movie she had watched recently with her father-though, she was still under the impression that 'hobbits' were no more than little people with very big, very hairy feet, and the goblins, of course, were simply all wrong.

….

_Dominique_

"Say, Lucy," Dominique began coyly, still trying to hide her anger and annoyance with Lucy._ Was it possible she wanted the necklace as well? She can't have it-I want it! _"Would you happen to have any extra money you could lend me? It's just that I really, _really_ want to buy this necklace-see how pretty it is, and how it shines in the light? I think I would look wonderful with it, wouldn't you say? Only, I don't have enough money to buy it, and I was wondering if maybe you had a few extra galleons in your pocket that you could loan me, and I'd pay you back later, when I have my allowance."

Lucy gave her a puzzled look, still munching away on her apple as Dominique talked, head tilted as she considered the question and the necklace.

_It's mine, it's mine! You can't have it, it's mine!_

Dominique might have blushed with embarrassment if she stopped to think about what she was doing, but she was overcome with the desire to possess the beautiful necklace, and wasn't thinking at all rationally.

….

_Lucy_

"I'd pay you back later, when I have my allowance." Dominique said, and Lucy took another bite of her apple, bewildered.

It was just a piece of jewellery-did Dominique really need it so badly that she just _had _to have it right then and there?

And besides, Lucy didn't really have much money on her just then; she'd been intending on buying another apple with what she had (_eight sickles for two apples, bright and juicy! Get 'em while they're hot!_) which would certainly not be enough for Dominique's silly necklace that she'd probably only just lose in a week.

_You'll understand when you're older_-was that true, though?

Would Dominique's obsession with the jewellery make sense when she was eight or nine or ten? It certainly didn't make any sense right now, as she shook her head.

Dominique's shoulders slumped as Lucy explained that she simply didn't have enough, though her eyes were still glittering, almost with anger, Lucy thought, though that didn't make any sense.

Why would Dominique be so mad about a stupid necklace?

….

_Dominique_

_How dare she? How dare she not give me her money? _

_She's got to have enough, she's got to look-I just know it. She's hiding it from me, that smug little baby! I'll…I'll punch her, I will!_

_Look at her, nibbling away at her stupid little apple, probably laughing at me right now, knowing I won't be able to buy my lovely necklace. _

_Oh, I just must have it-me and no one else. No one can have it, just me, because I saw it first, and I want it more! Why won't she give me her money, I know she's got it, I know it, I know it! _

_It's my necklace-I hate you, Lucy Weasley, I hate you! I…I resent you, with your stupid apple and your stupid smile, mocking me as you eat, knowing I can't have the thing I want most. _

_How dare you not give me what I want, how dare you mock me? I hate, hate, hate you, Lucy Weasley! Stupid little baby, I hate you._

_It's my necklace, you can't have it! It's all mine, mine, mine-it can only be mine, no one else's. _

_Stupid Lucy._

….

_Lucy_

Lucy finished her apple off quickly, not really liking the look in her cousin's eye. Maybe Dominique had gone mad or something-Lucy wasn't sure, and she didn't really care.

All she was concerned about was getting away so she could get another apple to munch on, and also avoid Dominique for at least the rest of the day (maybe forever!) because, clearly, her cousin had gone crazy.

Lucy could tell from the wild look in the older girl's eye, from the way she pursed her lips and scowled and seemed to be almost shaking from rage.

Lucy wanted _out _of there right now, and she looked around desperately for someone to rescue her.

The necklace wasn't even that special-why did Dominique look so mad about it?

Oh…Lucy needed another apple to help her think.


	35. Dominique&Louis: Beautiful

_July 9, 2021_

Dominique had never considered herself beautiful, especially not standing shoulder to shoulder with her heart-breaking, tragically stunning older sister, who was the one who had been magically blessed with wavy blonde hair (Dom's was just a curly, dark blonde mess) and expressive blue eyes (Dom's were duller and too far apart for her liking) and a stunning personally-Dominique tried to be outgoing, she wanted to be outgoing, but she felt long overshadowed by Victoire.

Dominique knew these things weren't entirely Victoire's fault-she didn't mean to be perfect and dazzling all the time-but that didn't make Dominique any less frustrated when she saw boys chasing after Victoire, boys who never even so much as noticed her, just part of the decorations.

Well, not tonight, Dominique thought proudly and rather happily, recalling the sweet young man who had asked her out for dinner; his name was Robert, just a year and a half older than she was, and was also training to be an assistant Healer alongside Dominique.

He had asked Dominique out during one of their many training classes, where the two of them were partners, constantly joking between classes-they had even gone on a few "study dates" that mostly turned into viewing sessions of really old Muggle films that Robert enjoyed, like _Casablanca_, and throwing popcorn at each other.

But this was to be their first ever official date-he was taking her to the theatre to see _A Christmas Carol_-and she felt just as beautiful, just as stunning as Victoire must have felt every day.

Tonight, Dominique would finally get her chance to shine for a boy who had never met her older sister, who couldn't compare fair Dominique to stunning Victoire.

"Hey, Dom, are you in here? I need some help on my new model," called Dominique's younger brother, Louis, who rapped his fingers lightly on the door once, before casually cracking it open anyway, letting the door swing carelessly open without waiting for her response.

Dominique would have turned to glare at him-she hated when people came into her room without permission, as her brother seemed to enjoy doing, but she was too busy smoothing out her dress and peering at herself in the mirror to make sure she looked fine, to make sure she would look great on her date tonight.

"I can't figure out where the hippogriff's wings go…." Louis froze in the doorway, staring at Dominique who was twirling around in her pretty blue dress. "Are you going out?" He asked sharply.

"I might be," Dominique said, slipping on one earring and then the other, admiring the way the little stones (clear quarts, she thought they were called, but Dominique wasn't sure, she just knew they had been a gift from her cousin, Molly) reached nearly to her shoulders, showcasing the hollow area just under her neck, as well as the smooth fair skin of her shoulders and arms.

Her hair had been done up in an elaborate braid that pulled the hair just up to the nape of her neck, and she was even wearing make-up, an unusual circumstance for her.

Dominique felt almost _regal_, like a princess or a queen.

"Is it so strange that a boy happens to have taken an interest in me? His name is Robert, in case you were curious." Dominique moved over to her bed, slipping on a pair of matching flats and picking up her purse, smiling at Louis, who had been watching her with a slightly dazzled, confused look on his face, as though she were a strange creature that he would have liked to study. Dominique's smiled faded into a scowl as she grew suddenly irritated with him. "What, Louis? Am I not pretty enough for you?"

"Huh?" Louis mumbled, meeting her eyes with a befuddled look in his eyes. "Not….pretty enough?" He sounds half-asleep, and Dominique has to resist the urge to punch him, Louis is irritating her so much. "Oh no," he says suddenly, sharply, and Dominique glances at him again, vaguely startled.

"Oh, no, no, no, Domi, that's not what I meant at all. You….you look very pretty in your dress, actually. Beautiful, really, if we're being honest. I mean, you look beautiful all the time…even in robes, or just jeans, but especially so tonight…Robert's going to love you and…" he trailed off, blushing horribly, but Dominique could only shake her head.

Although she felt somewhat prettier than normal, she did not feel beautiful, and she did not want to hear Louis say such lies just to make her feel better.

"Oh, but it's true, Domi, you're very beautiful and if Robert doesn't figure that out, then he's a daft idiot, and trust me, you are _very _pretty. Very beautiful, very stunning-my amazing older sister, Dominique." He laughed slightly.

"That's not true," she said quietly, a dark blush creeping up her face, and she bit her tongue, embarrassed by Louis' nice words, which she knew were a lie.

She would never be as beautiful as Victoire, who floated when she walked, and who turned heads everywhere she went.

Victoire, who had had half a dozen boyfriends by the time she graduated, and was already engaged to her most recent boyfriend, Teddy Lupin, who Dominique had used to have a rather childish crush on.

"That's not true, you don't mean that, Louis. I'm not beautiful, I've never been beautiful, not like Victoire. _She's _beautiful, I'm just an ugly duckling, just lucky enough to get a date."

All her happiness from being asked out by Robert had left her, dissipated in the flood of sadness that overwhelmed her as she thought about how ugly she truly was compared to her fantastic, amazing, wonderful older sister, who had never meant to overshadow Dominique, but always seemed to find some way to do so, even when she wasn't even physically around.

Louis watched her with his mouth agape, and he moved to hold her hand, shaking his head firmly. "That's not true, Domi, that's not true. Whoever made you think that you're not pretty is a liar. Of course you're pretty, of course you're beautiful-haven't you looked in a mirror lately? Haven't you seen the way guys look at you? It pisses me off sometimes, the number of guys I catch peeking at you, checking you out. Don't you notice any of them?"

Dominique had begun to cry, large, gulping tears that ran down her face and made her hiccup loudly. She shook her head, not wanting to believe him, because it couldn't possibly be true at all, what he was saying.

She wasn't pretty, she'd never be pretty-Victoire was the pretty one, not her. Her make-up was beginning to run, and that only made her cry harder.

Louis wrapped his arms tightly around her in a hug, trying to calm her down.

"You _are _beautiful, Dominique, even if you don't think so. _Trust me_. If Robert doesn't realise that, then he's an idiot, Domi. _I know _you are beautiful, Domi-why can't you see that yourself?"


	36. Dominique&James: Happy Birthday

_April 7, 2038_

They were celebrating Charles Potter's first birthday today, a rainy April seventh, gathered around James' and Caroline's table, which had been dragged into the backyard; James had smartly planned ahead and the family was celebrating underneath an awning, keeping them safe from the rain, and still able to enjoy the cake and presents as the twelve month old tore into paper, ripping ribbons off his presents with the glee that can only be found in infants as young as he.

Charles was James' youngest child, his only son, and as Dominique watched him carry the little boy, she could see the love that was obvious between father and son, the way they clung to each other, so happy to have found someone who, in some way, completed them.

This was the first party Dominique had been to since she had returned from the _place not spoken of, _which was the family's way of referring to the mysterious location that Dominique and her husband and daughters had been living at for over twelve years without ever once contacting anyone else.

Charlie, sweet little Charlie, with his chubby cheeks and little fingers that patted his father's face, his father's hair, anything Charlie could get his hands on; it was obvious to all from the way James was looking down at the young boy wriggling in his arms that there was no he loved more, save for his wife and two daughters.

Charlie, sweet darling Charlie, who everyone loved, was the spitting image of James, with his dark hair and happy brown eyes.

Charlie-Charles-had been named after James' and Dominique's uncle, Charlie Weasley, who had passed away almost twenty-five years ago.

As James held his little boy, laughing as Charlie tried blowing out the candles, as the party went on around her, Dominique had to stifle a sob, wondering why she had ever dared to think it was a good idea to miss all this, had ever thought she could ever truly leave her own family.

She didn't really know her own nieces and nephews, didn't know her own little second cousins, the oldest of whom were already five years old-her own nephew, Remus, was nearly thirteen already.

How had she survived separating herself for so long from her family, how had she ever been able to push away so far?

"Hey, Domi," James said, coming over to greet her with his customary warm smile, he had handed Charlie over to a smiling Lily, and was now looking at Dominique with obvious interest, observing her every move.

He certainly seemed a lot happier than Dominique felt at that moment, watching this family of near strangers, as if they had never even noticed she was gone, as if she had never really mattered in the grand scheme of the Weasley family plan.

"You okay, Domi?" James asked, giving her a concerned look, eyes narrowing in suspicion, and her heart lurched, recalling the pain in his eyes when she had returned after nearly twelve years; James had not been the first to accept her return, but he wasn't the last one. "Is everything fine between you and Ciel? Are the girls okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed, as someone began to clap loudly behind them, while Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione began to dance wildly like they weren't in their late fifties, but rather just teenagers again.

Dominique couldn't help but smile at them, and at James, glad that _he _at least seemed to care about her, glad that the rest of her family was happy at least; James seemed to be interested in her life, she had to give him that, interested in her well-being, her safety, unlike the others.

"Lisette and Noella are fine, as are Ciel and I. He's a bit thrown off, I think, by all these differences in customs, though the girls are adjusting pleasantly. I'm glad I taught them English alongside the French." The girls were nine and three now, respectively, and had lived their entire life in France up until now, and mostly spoke French; she blushed, knowing that was something they wouldn't have had to do if she had just stayed in England instead of running away.

(Ciel and Molly were always telling her she'd made the wrong choice, running away.)

"That's good to hear," James said happily, politely, and Dominique felt her stomach lurch as he continued to smile at her like nothing was wrong, like she hadn't just silently walked out of his life for almost nine years, not leaving a message of any kind, only to waltz back in after he'd gotten his own life stabilized, disrupting the balance of the entire family

. Dominique hadn't ever really shown much respect towards the rest of her family-at least, that's what Dad had always reprimanded her on-and she was more than a little surprised at how easily James seemed to just _accept _her return, as though it wasn't one, big life-changing ordeal.

_Maybe for him it wasn't-maybe, for James, it was just his cousin returning home, where she belonged. _Dominique didn't understand such an idea-she would have been angry if any of her cousins had just taken off without a word, but James was different, wasn't he?

He had never really cared before about much, and she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I'm really glad you're back, by the way," James said suddenly, voice dropping quickly, and Dominique had to lean in to understand what he was saying. "I….I missed you while you were gone, away in France. There wasn't anyone else to play jokes with, just me and Louis, and he was always so busy with work and the dragons now that it was beginning to be as if he is hardly ever around anymore. Besides, things are a lot more stable around here with you back; they'll never admit it, of course, but Toire and Louis were complete wrecks when they thought you were dead, and Lily hardly ever smiled. You make our lives better, Domi, even if it doesn't always feel that way, and….I'm glad you came back."

He smiled at her, but Dominique could only cringe internally, having not realised the pain she had been truly causing her family, having been away for so long, like a child refusing to come in after dark.

Behind them, people had begun to sing "Happy Birthday" really loudly, and James gave her one last smile before turning to leave; Dominique could only hide the angry tears with a wipe of her sleeve.

Even now, she was still only creating more problems.


	37. Dominique&Rose: Heartbeat

_November 14, 2039_

Dominique couldn't remember seeing her cousin Rose ever cry-there were simply not even the vaguest of memories of a tear in Rose's eyes or wet cheeks stained with tear streaks that cut across her pale skin.

She had seen Rose angry with her mouth turned down and her ears red and her hands shaking; she had seen Rose happy, with wide smiles and bright, glimmering eyes as she floated around with that dreamy look on her face.

But, Dominique could not recall what Rose's sad face looked like-did she scowl, or did her lip tremble ferociously, or did she try to hide the tears?

Rose was not the sort of person who was easily moved to strong emotions, and though Dominique strained to do so, she could not remember a single tear leaking from her cousin's eyes.

Now, though, as she watched her cousin stand outside the hospital room, Dominique could see tears pouring out from his cousin's eyes; she was shaking from head to toe, her hands barely clutching a bag stuffed full of toys and children's books.

She seemed terribly small as she stood there, and Dominique could only catch her eye for a fraction of a second-but in that second, she saw terrified desperation looking back at her in Rose's widened eyes. Dominique watched her younger cousin sigh deeply, balling up her fists, face crumpling and twisting as she tried to hold in sobs that were too much for her, spilling out of Rose in loud gasps.

Dominque wanted to move to her, to comfort her, but she felt awkward, unsure of herself. It had been years-far too many years-since she had seen Rose or any of her family, and relations were still tense between them.

Inside the hospital room slept a little girl with her blonde hair splayed out over her pillow, and her little chest rose and fell shallowly, barely even moving.

There was a heart monitor nearby, her heartbeat pumping slowly, much too slowly for Dominique's comfort, for anyone's comfort. Balloons, bright and colourful, were tied to the end of her bed, in stark contrast to the sterile hospital white of the rest of her room.

The girl was Rose's daughter (_adopted,_ Dominique couldn't help but remind her self, and she hated herself for that cruel part of her that still existed, deep inside) Tabitha, the one everyone called Neeny for a reason Dominique didn't understand (just another thing you missed out on while you was gone), who was not yet quite seven, and had been admitted to St. Mungo's three days ago with a severe fever that the Healers and mediwitches couldn't seem to drag back down to normal, regardless of spells or potions or a combination of muggle medicines.

Her heartbeat thudded unsteadily and slowly throughout the first nights, and Dominique's own heartbeat seemed to be trying to claw its way out of her.

"Are you okay, Rose? Is Neeny going to…?" Dominique stopped, seeing the anguish in Rose's eyes, seeing the pain written clearly on her face.

This was a young woman who had grown desperate, who was not sure if there was anything left for her to do.

Neeny was just a little girl, heartbeat still pumping weakly, while her mothers cried outside in earnest, already prepared to mourn their not-yet-dead child, because the Healers didn't know what to do, and it didn't look like Neeny was going to make it.

Dominique could not comfort her cousin, who looked so broken and hopeless, because she just didn't know what to say to her-too many years separated from her family and a poor relationship with Rose had separated the two young women, leaving one to starve for consolation in her sorrow and the other to stand just outside this sad bubble, unable to find the words necessary to comfort the crying woman.

"Do you need any help….?" Dominique tried to speak again, tried to find the words that she insisted must be somewhere inside of her.

Rose could only turn to her cousin with confusion, looking at her blankly, all emotion seemingly drained from her as she wobbled and shook on buckling legs.

Dominique sighed, taking a deep breath as she looked at her cousin, so forlorn and broken.

"Is there anything I can do for you or Hannai right now? Anything I could go get for you-a pillow, blanket, food? Anything at all?" She didn't know what to say, or how to comfort the young woman, so at least she could help out in some small way, right?

At least she could do some good for her cousin this way, right? Dominique's heartbeat spiked as Rose stood silently, tears still streaming down her cheeks, not responding.

"No," Rose said quietly, and she looked at Dominique somewhat blankly, not at all looking like she really wanted to talk about the situation.

Dominique wasn't even sure why'd she come, except that Victoire had recently chewed her out for not attempting to reconnect with the rest of the family, and she had worried that something might happen to Rose if the woman was left alone for too long.

"No, there's nothing wrong, I'm fine." She sniffled, wiping at her nose. "I'm fine, honest." Dominique gave her a disbelieving look, and Rose smiled slightly through her tears. "Hannai's been coming by every day after work….she says I ought to go home, take a shower every once and a while, but I'm so worried about her….Neeny's got such a fragile heartbeat…" Rose looked away, brushing, still, at the tears in her eyes, and Dominique moved closer, as if to hug her. "We were so lucky to even get Neeny, and now….I feel as if I've let her down in some way, letting her get so sick. They don't know how to help my daughter and….I feel so _helpless._"

"I'm sorry," Dominique said quietly, and they both knew she was talking about more than just the situation with Tabitha.

_Sorry I wasn't here, sorry I was such an awful cousin, sorry I never cared enough. Sorry I ran away, sorry I pretended I was dead, sorry I told you I hated you. Sorry, sorry, sorry. _

"I wish there was something more I could do to help-I'm sure you feel the same way. It would just crush me if something happened to Lisette or Noella."

Her daughters, who were eleven and five-it hurt just to think about something happening to her little girls, her little angels; she could understood the anguish in Rose's eyes, the clenched jaw, the shaking in her hands.

She took Rose's hand in hers, heartbeat pounding loudly in her ear.

"I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry I was never good enough. _


	38. Dominique&Albus: Protection

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she simply turns her music up.

_May 14, 2015_

Sometimes, though Dominique would never dare admit it, she's afraid that there is something maybe…_wrong _with her.

She is always angry, even when she doesn't want to be-when she has no reason to be, because everything in her life is going perfectly.

She's beautiful (maybe) and smart (possibly) and talented (at what), but all she can focus on is the way her fists clench in anger.

And, though she knows it's irrational and she's being childish, Dominique finds herself becoming unusually angry with _other _people, even when they haven't done anything to her. _Especially _when they haven't done anything to her, actually.

She doesn't mean to get angry she just…does. There is no controlling it, though Dominique had certainly tried to do so many times.

She hates herself for being so weak, for being controlled by something as dumb as her own anger, and she hates the fact that no one else seems to understand how she feels.

She doesn't mean to hurt anyone, she doesn't mean to make any of her cousins cry, but sometimes she says-or does-things that makes them upset, and Dominique always tries to apologise, but it never seems to make any difference.

She feels bad about it, but it always circled back to her just being a _not nice person. _

Maybe she was just born that way.

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she cries to cover up the sound.

April 9, 2016

Albus is…different from the rest-he's sweet, even without meaning to, and nothing she says or does seems to have any sort of effect on him.

He smiles at her every time they see each other, and he offers her sweets, asks her how she is; Dominique snaps at Albus, taunts him, and tugs at his hair or robes.

But it never seems to mean anything to him.

She begins to wonder if he's as broken inside as she is-if, maybe, Albus is simply better at hiding such things than she is.

Dominique isn't sure it's possible for someone to be as happy as Albus, and she maybe even begins to (_hate_) him for that-it isn't fair that he seems to be nothing but smiles, while all she can do is hold back the tears.

She turns up the radio and blasts country music throughout her room at night, but nothing ever seems to help.

Dominique wishes she had some way of protecting herself and those around her from her own anger, because even though she tries to bottle it up, something always happens and she _always _blows up and ruins everything.

That's what always happens-all she wants is for someone to explain to her why she's so explosive all the time.

Because, really, it's not fair.

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she reaches for her razor to shut them up

_December 21, 2018_

Albus sends her a vase of flowers for her sixteenth birthday, and Dominique is rather startled-she'd nearly forgotten is was even her birthday, and he's sent her a vase full of daisies, her favourite, and stuck a little card in.

He's twelve years old, and she's not even sure where he got the daisies, because it's December, but Dominique grateful nonetheless.

The flowers are beautiful, but they are, of course, only flowers. Eventually, they die, and she even loses the card later, just a scrap of paper with a big sun drawn on the front over a picture of the two of them, but she never forgets the happiness that comes with that present.

She never forgets the way Albus' eyes light up when she thanks him, the way he tries to act like it was nothing-when they both know it was _so much more. _

Her cousin is beautiful and amazing, and she despises him for the easy way he walks through life, but she is also beginning to see the layers he wears to protect himself.

Albus is hiding from the outside world just like her, using his smile as a means of protection, the way she uses her fists and her nasty words.

She has been waiting for someone who understands her problem.

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she knocks on his door and begs.

_December 22, 2021_

In the end, it isn't even Albus who saves her-because she can't be saved and some days, she just doesn't even want to be. She tells him so, tells Albus that she is nineteen now and he's fifteen, so he's not meant to be protecting her anymore.

He's not meant to be the protector-_she's _the older cousin, that's her job! She's tired of feeling useless, tired of feeling like the hapless princess who needs a hero to protect her.

And Albus, like everyone else, just lets her go, lets go of her hand, and walks away. Because he's different, yes, but he's been holding her hand for years-he's tired of being rejected, being turned away, being told "_you can't help me"._

It's not true, Albus tells Dominique-he _can _help her, but Dominique won't accept it, she doesn't want to accept it. So Albus leaves.

He leaves her behind like everyone else and the entire time, all he says is that he's sorry, I'm sorry, sorry I wasn't enough, not ever good enough, and he leaves.

When he goes, finally, Dominique cries harder than she ever has before. Once again, she's pushing everyone away, cruelly treating them like they're nothing, and she doesn't even know why.

She doesn't want Albus to leave, not really, but she pushes and pushes, and he breaks-because, really, he's only fifteen, and he's got his problems.

So Dominique turns up her music and hugs the vase he gave her and she cries; her protections is gone and all is now is wide open to the world.

She's never been more afraid than when he leaves.

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she gives up and lets them in.

_February 18, 2034_

The next time she sees Albus, they've both grown up so much. She's married, with two young daughters, and he's married to Scorpius Malfoy.

The next time she sees him, all he does is smile at her, and suddenly she's sixteen again, happily accepting a vase of bright flowers she doesn't feel she deserves.

Albus smiles at her, a soft and kind smile, and Dominique knows he's completely forgotten the things she's said to him, and the things she's done to him.

Albus doesn't even need to say anything, she already just _knows _everything is normal and they're fine-perfectly fine.

She knows they're back to the way things used to be, before she ran away and pretended she was dead for all those years.

Back before she had told him he couldn't save her, that she couldn't be saved, and that she didn't need his protection anymore.

Albus is all smiles as he walks over, and Dominique sighs with relief.

"_This is Scorpius." _He tells her, and it's like they're little kids again, happily showing off the newest toy they have.

She feels herself relaxing the more they talk, because this is Albus, her little cousin, the man who used to be her knight in shining her arm, her protection, her _protector. _

He's so happy and warm and _present _now, and she can't help herself, listening to him talk, she feels so safe.

She has always felt safest with him

Sometimes, when the voices get too loud, she lets him shoo them all away.


	39. Dominique&Lily: Lies

_August 6, 2018_

Lily sat on the edge of the little pier that Uncle Bill had built to reach a tiny bit farther out into the water. Her toes just barely skimmed the water, the rest of her foot hanging in the air, pink and wrinkly.

Though it was warm outside, the young girl shivered, wishing Dominique would just hurry up and get outside.

It was dumb enough that Lily, who was now ten and _very _mature for her age, was still being baby-sat by her older cousin, especially sixteen year old Dominique Weasley, who was often times a big bully towards her younger cousins.

(Lily had almost wished her dead, once.)

In Lily's opinion, Dominique had two very major, extremely unforgivable flaws: one, she was a bully-cruel and hateful, and she was always picking on people who didn't even deserve it. Secondly, Dominique was a liar.

She told lies all the time, whenever she could, and Dominique didn't even seem to care that everyone knew she was a liar.

Dominique would push people down and then claim it hadn't been her; she'd steal things from people and then accuse someone else, often times one of her family members.

Dominique was a liar and a bully, and Lily didn't like her at all.

Of course, Lily recognised that nearly everyone-herself included-had lied at some point or another, and some more frequently than others, but Dominique seemed to lie about nearly anything there was that one _could _lie about, and then some.

Who had taken a cookie, who had hurt Roxy by pushing her out of a tree, who had hid Grandpa Weasley's glasses-even if she _hadn't _done anything herself, Dominique would still lie, would still accuse someone else of the crime.

Lily didn't understand why anyone would lie so much, since it only seemed to get Dominique in more and more trouble, but there was nothing that anyone seemed to be able to do with her.

Dominique was a liar, had been a liar, and probably always would be.

She had, in fact, most likely lied to Uncle Bill just a few hours ago, claiming she would much rather hang around the cottage with Lily, and maybe take her younger cousin swimming, rather than go to the cinema with her family.

That, of course, to anyone who knew Dominique, had not at all been the truth; Dominique had been talking for weeks on end about going to see a new chick flick movie, and more importantly, Dominique didn't seem to much care for her young cousin, and she certainly hated swimming.

Lily _really _didn't understand her cousin, or anything she did for that matter. Maybe it was a part of growing up, or maybe Dominique was just crazy-Lily didn't know, and right now, she didn't particularly care.

All she knew for certain, though, was not Dominique was a total _liar. _

….

Dominique sat just inside the doorway of her house, pressing her hands on the sides of her head, wanting to scream.

She was wearing a baggy, oversized t-shirt over her dull grey swim suit, and her dull grey eyes were squeezed shut as she laid her head down on her knees.

Dominique did not seem to be making any sort of move to go outside and join her younger cousin on the pier like she had promised, and it seemed like it would be a while before she even got up.

She appeared to be holding back tears about something, though, had anyone asked her, Dominique would have adamantly denied such a fact.

Dominique had lied to her family, lied to Lily, and she had lied to Lily, telling them she was fine staying home, instead of going to the cinema.

No one thought to ask why, though. No one had stopped to consider the fact that Dominique hated swimming, and that she had been begging for weeks to go to the cinema.

No one had bothered to ask her if something was wrong, because this was so blatantly out of character for her. Dominique had lied, and for once, no one had seemed to care.

Colin Losey worked at the cinema during the summer; Colin, who had always laughed at Dominique's jokes and always gave her popcorn with lots of butter, Colin who had greeted his girlfriend-a nameless redheaded beauty that was far too pretty for him to ever consider looking at Dominique in the same way-with a kiss on the cheek that quickly became a make-out session.

Dominique had wished-Dominique had hoped-Dominique had been stupid and foolish and childish to even _hope _that a boy might look at her the say way she looked at them.

And now, the cinema was off-limits, because she was too terrified to see him there, terrified that he might keep acting the same way he always did. Terrified that he would act completely different now that he had a girlfriend.

More importantly right now, Dominique was too scared to go outside and face her younger cousin, Lily, who was so young and carefree and didn't quite seem to understand yet that the world really was a terrible place.

Dominique didn't want to go out there and pretend that everything was fine, lie to Lily and herself that life would get better eventually, because Dominique knew that wasn't true-life doesn't get better, it just doesn't

. Life never seemed to end the way it should for girls like her, and she'd be lying if she said that wasn't true.

But Lily was still just sitting on the pier, waiting so patiently for Dominique to come out and swim with her. Dominique was the queen of broken promises and lies-but not this time, she decided, getting to her feet.

Not this time, she told herself, opening the front door and stepping out into the bright sunlight.

_I'm not lying this time._

Lily seemed rather surprised to see Dominique, as if she hadn't truly expected the blonde to _actually _come outside, but Dominique only smiled wanly, joining her cousin on the pier.

She smiled a fake smile-because it was the only sort of smile she knew, because Dominique was many things, and lying was something she was good at.

…

There was something strange about Dominique, Lily decided, looking with bemusement at the tall blonde. Something very strange, something she doesn't want anyone else to know.

Lily couldn't tell what it was, exactly, that was so off about her cousin, but, no doubt, if Lily had tried to bring it up, Dominique would only lie about it. She never told the truth, not even about the simplest things, not even if telling the truth would help her.

Lily slipped into the water, her head bobbing just above the surface of the clear blue water, as her feet touched wet sand, watching Dominique's face.

Dominique, who remained sitting on the pier, pulling her long t-shirt over her bare knees, hiding the grey swimsuit underneath.

In Lily's opinion, Dominique didn't look sixteen just then-she barely looked older than Lily herself, a scared little girl who didn't know what to do. It might have made Lily laugh, the thought of her cousin as a little girl, except that Dominique seemed so forlorn.

Lily started to reach out to Dominique, to touch her knee or lightly grip her hand, Lily wasn't sure which. But, looking up at Dominique, she stopped, her hand frozen just above the water.

She didn't like Dominique-Dominique was a bully and a liar, Dominique was cruel and mean, and if she was sad, then that wasn't Lily's fault.

If Dominique was sad and upset, then it was something she must have brought upon herself-she didn't want to deal with Dominique's lies and problems that had finally caught up with her.

Instead, she just sunk deeper into the water, ignoring the pained expression on her cousin's face.

She ignored the expression of a girl who wanted to be dead.


	40. Dominique&Hugo: Daybreak

_August 20, 2019_

Dominique threw an almond up into the air, trying-and failing-to catch it in her mouth as it bounced off the side of her nose and scattered to the ground; she sighed, brushing the almond off the front steps, and dropped her head into her hands, watching as the sun rose, turning from night into daybreak.

It was her least favourite time of day, daybreak, just as the mysterious, cool dark melted into a splash of bright colours, like someone had thrown their stylus across the entire sky.

She hated the overall brightness of daybreak, as if it were trying to show off to her, like it was trying to impress her with its flashy colours and harsh light as the sun rose; Dominique much preferred the cool silence of night, chilly like glaciers.

Dominique was only up this early in the morning because her Aunt Hermione was supposed to be stopping by to talk to Mum, and she'd be brining Dominique's younger cousins, Rose and Hugo.

Dominique wasn't overly fond of Rose, the older of the two, who just filled Dominique with distrust, as if she were always hiding something, or secretly judging Dominique behind her back; but Hugo, who was seven years younger than Dominique but seemed so wise at just eleven years old, was easy to love, a little boy who would follow her around without a word, hand in hand as they walked across the beach silently, neither needing to speak, as if the world around them spoke enough for a lifetime of conversations.

Dominique had offered to wait for Aunt Hermione, even if it _did _mean getting up at daybreak, because at least she'd be the first person to see them, the first person to greet sweet little Hugo, who'd be going to Hogwarts that September, and Dominique could be near him on a regular basis-which was good, because he needed someone to look out for him, the quiet little boy with the large mind-but it was her sixth year-which was sad, because she'd only get two years with him, which was hardly any time at all.

Dominique held back a yawn, remembering the smirk on Louis' face when she had offered to get up before even the sun, just so she could see Hugo's bright little face laughing at her from Hermione's car; he didn't understand, didn't really realise how important Hugo was to her, Dominique's favourite cousin, except for maybe Molly.

Hugo was the only one who didn't make her feel unimportant or used up, like the others, and she hadn't hurt Hugo yet with her cruel words, which Dominique had always struggled with.

Just then, a little red car started up the hill that led to Shell Cottage, where Dominique had spent her entire seventeen years.

She stood eagerly, shoes trampling the almonds that she had been trying to catch in her mouth as the sun rose, which now lay scattered around the front step.

What if this was Aunt Hermione's car? What if they were here?

She smoothed down her hair, watching the car drive even closer, barely able to keep the smile off her face. Hugo, the silent Weasley; Hugo, the Weasley who stuttered and stumbled and wrote down his emotions-Dominique couldn't imagine him any other way, and she almost squealed as the car pulled up towards Shell Cottage, flashing its lights.

She couldn't wait to see him, to ask how he was, to assess how much he'd grown since she had seen him at Christmas last year.

She laughed as the younger boy ran out from his mother's car, only turning around to wave good-bye wildly, nearly tripping over his shoelaces as he ran; Hugo just managed to pick himself back up before he face planted the beach, grinning up at her.

Dominique moved from her place on the steps, walking over to greet him with a smile on her face, arms outstretched.

"Don't touch me!" Hugo squealed, fleeing from her grasp, and Dominique make a face, pretending to be hurt, pretending to pout as if he had offended her in some way, which made the smile on Hugo's face fall rather quickly.

"You don't want to kiss me?" she asked teasingly, and he squawked, shaking his head as if to say no, but she only sighed heavily, turning away in a dramatic manner, hand resting heavily on her brow. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just having a crisis here. My own dear cousin no longer loves me, he doesn't want to be seen with me or hug me, or even let me give him a little kiss on the cheek."

If she kept this up much longer, she'd probably be able to fake a tear or two, but it looked like Hugo was already near tears, so she only smiled, ruffling his hair.

"Just messing with you, little cousin. Don't worry, I'm not mad." Hugo stopped looking so distraught and smiled back up at her, albeit somewhat hesitantly, and Dominique had to fight to keep the smile on her own face, feeling back for making him look so sad.

Behind them, Aunt Hermione came up the walk with thirteen year old Rose, who was carrying her overnight travel pack, as well as Hugo's.

Rose was carefully picking her way across the walk, carefully avoiding the sea, and Dominique vaguely recalled the younger girl's aversion to water, slightly startled that she had bothered to remember such a thing about her younger cousin; the two girls weren't on very good terms, ever since Dominique had slapped Rose two years ago, when the younger girl had publicly embarrassed Dominique as they neared final exams, claiming that Dominique had been cheating on her O.W.L.S.

(Which was a lie, and Rose was just a bossy, know-it-all, the exact opposite of what a Ravenclaw was supposed to be, as far as Dominique was concerned.)

There was not much love lost between the two of them anyway, as they hadn't been over fond of each other to begin with.

"Good morning, Dominique," said Aunt Hermione, stopping just short of Dominique and Hugo. Dominique smiled at her aunt, squinting in the direction of daybreak, where the sun was still beginning its slow climb into the sky, unconcerned with the mortals below, who were already beginning to sweat in the hot July weather, even if it was only six in the morning. "It's nice to you again, as usual. You've grown a bit since last time, haven't you?"

Dominique had, a full four inches, which made her now taller than Aunt Hermione, something she didn't point out merely because she was tired of seeing Rose's scowls and glares and condescending eye rolls that irritated Dominique.

Hugo had taken her hand, sighing quietly, and she looked down just as he yawned; Dominique couldn't help but smile at him, completely in love with this little boy next to her-if she could just take Hugo away with her and run away to somewhere nice, Dominique thought she might have been in paradise.

"Come on, then, Mum's probably going to be up soon," she said, leading them all up to the house, Hugo still clinging to her hand, and she grinned, feeling like the luckiest person in the world, to be with this amazing little boy who was so full of potential and happiness and had not yet been dragged down by the rest of the world.

He was still innocent, unaware that things would not always be so good-and Dominique would not be the one to tell him such things.

As they walked into the house, daybreak bursting into a mirage of colours as the sun finally pulled itself up, yawning sleepily, Dominique couldn't help but smile, feeling that, even though she certainly did not deserve someone so amazing as Hugo, she was glad he was with her.

She was glad they could be together, side by side, facing the world one daybreak at a time.


	41. Dominique&Roxanne: Broken Wings

_December 19, 2022_

"I'm dying, Domi," Roxanne said in a dramatic tone, wandering into her uncle's kitchen.

The twelve year old sighed deeply and slumped into a seat next to Dominique, who could only stare at her younger cousin in amusement and with slight confusion.

She had no idea what Roxy was talking about, but it probably wasn't something Dominique really had time to listen to, what with her job at St. Mungo's and her failed relationships and just _life _in general swarming up around her, leaving Dominique with little time to deal with her younger cousins and their problems, of which there seemed to be many, of increasingly annoying pointlessness.

She wasn't Victoire, after all, who was so willing to help out all the little cousins who needed help with their grades or a crush or whatever nonsense they were always coming to her for. Dominique turned away from her cousin, missing the younger girl's lazy grin as she laughed at her own dramatics.

_One day, I'm going to leave this place. I'm going to fly away like a bird, unburdened by the problems of my life in England. No more broken wings for me-I'm going to float like a butterfly._

She was almost nineteen, and this wasn't the first time such thoughts had flittered through her mind, but it was become a more regular thing she considered, thinking about her plans to flee from England more and more often-she hated it here, hated her entire life of being compared to others, to never feeling adequate enough to please her parents, always feeling so terribly alone.

She had plans to run away to somewhere foreign, maybe France or Japan, because the idea of living on her own, away from the other Weasley's, fascinated her.

She could finally be free from expectations, because no one would know about the rest of her family, would have no one to compare her to. _No clipped wings for this butterfly. _

Roxanne's eyes dropped to the floor, and she sighed once again, though this time Dominique could tell it wasn't a dramatic, childish, attention-grabbing sigh.

Dominique moved to the younger girl, pulling her into a tight hug, wishing she could hold this little girl tight, keep her from spreading her wings, lest she fall back to the ground, her wings broken and torn, as she crashed with tears in her eyes.

Dominique knew what it was like to have been ripped so cruelly from the clouds, sent tumbling back to earth like a fallen angel.

Roxanne breathed deeply against Dominique's shoulder, and her body quivered, as if she were trying to keep it all together, keep herself from cracking and crashing. _A butterfly with broken wings can't fly. _

"Remember when things were actually easy? When life was easy?" Roxanne mumbled into Dominique's shoulder, not lifting her head from where she was leaning against the older girl. "Remember when you weren't concerned about dumb things like how pretty you are, or whether or not a boy liked you?"

Dominique gave her a startled look, surprised that the girl was even considering such things, at twelve. She hadn't been so serious at that age, still concerned more with Quidditch than boys, more concerned about if she would get in trouble for doing backflips through the hallways than considering if anyone could see up her skirt.

"All I ever hear now from the teachers is that we need to be focused on our studies, and all I ever hear from my classmates is who's got the cutest arse or whatever." Roxy rolled her eyes, like she could barely believe the shallowness of her contemporaries.

"You look good in that," she finally said, nodding at Dominique's jeans and Puddlemere t-shirt. "Not all weird and fancy, like Torie usually is-not fake, like she looks, with make-up plastered all over her fact."

"You're a very smart little girl, aren't you?" Dominique asked, as Roxanne pulled away from her, and Roxanne blushed, not used to such compliments.

All she ever heard from her teachers was she didn't apply herself enough, and all she ever heard from her parents was that she _needed _to finish school-no one had ever called her smart before, or made any comment about her overall intelligence.

"It's like….you're considering things that I didn't even start thinking about until a year or so ago. You're growing up a lot faster than I am-I'm not entirely sure if it's a good thing, but if it keeps you from suffering from a broken heart like most girls, then I am all for whatever wisdom you've got tucked away in that pretty little head of yours." Roxanne nodded, unsure of how to respond. "I mean, you always speak your mind, even when others don't-you don't let others walk over you or define who you are, and that's really strong of you."

"_Butterfly free,_" Roxanne said, smiling to herself. Dominique frowned, confused about what Roxanne was talking about, and the younger girl smiled serenely, closing her eyes.

"It's a poem," she explained, beginning to rock back and forth, and suddenly, Dominique was reminded of Lorcan Scamander, who did the same thing when he was thinking. "It goes

_Butterfly free, _

_What does it mean?_

_What is the purpose of broken wings?_

_Bring to me beautiful music, for me you sing. _

_Butterfly free, softly you fly, quickly you fall. _

_Beautiful flying, beautiful wings._

_Butterfly falling, _

_Butterfly free._

One of my teachers read it to us once in class, I think, back in primary school. Supposedly, the poem was supposed to be about the fact that even the prettiest things lose their shine, and even the most powerful people fall from their position; I dunno if that's what the guy ever actually meant-I just thought his poems were really pretty and sad sounding, and I always used to want to give him a hug. In fact, I used to want to go meet him just so I could, and I begged my teacher to find out where he lived. She said the author had killed himself shortly after publishing a bunch of his short poems, sort of like it was his last note to the world before he died, and I remember going home and crying for him, because it was so sad that he didn't ever get to find out how much his poems made me think."

"Butterfly free," Dominique murmured quietly, and she couldn't help but smile down at Roxanne, who grinned up at her younger cousin bravely. "Thanks for telling me that, Roxy, it really helped."

And she meant it completely, as Roxanne smiled and skipped off down the hallway towards the room she was staying in during her visit at her uncle's house.

Dominique stood in the kitchen by herself for a minute or two after she was gone, standing still as she thought to herself.

_Butterfly free. You won't bring me down, you won't tear my wings, and you won't break them. _

Maybe now was the time to leave, to start on her own adventure in life.

_Butterfly free. _


	42. Fred&James: Jagged

_July 9, 2023_

His breath was ragged and came in short, uneven bursts, each gasping lungful of air a little harder to hold onto than the one before it.

The world itself seemed to be a jagged mess before James' eyes, as nothing lined up or made any sort of sense, not the way it was meant to.

_The way it was meant to_ should have meant that James was sitting on a broom right now, ten metres above the ground, with his cousin Fred, laughing as the other guys trying out slipped and stuttered their way through the early morning practice.

It should have also meant that James would be there to watch over his stupid older cousin in case something happened to Fred; there was no way of telling what might happen to Fred if James wasn't around to keep him from going overboard.

(No, there _was_ a way of telling what would happen if James weren't there to keep check of Fred, and it had come in the form of a seven o'clock phone call from the well-renowned ex-Puddlemere Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood.)

As James stared down at his hands, trying to make sense of the world around him, he remembered what Fred had said to him last night, before he had headed off to try-outs, alone.

"_Don't worry, Jamesie. Next year, next season, when you aren't in trouble with your mum, you can come and try out for Puddlemere, and I'll make sure to talk you up to all the other guys watching. And when you get on the team-because, let's face it, Jamie, you're a fantastic flyer and they'd be dumb not to let you on-then everyone will love us! The ladies will throw themselves at us everywhere we go! James Potter and Fred Weasley, the best Chasers that Puddlemere's ever had or ever will have!"_

"James, are you gonna be okay for now?" asked his older cousin, Louis, and James looked up briefly at the blond to see Louis' jagged outline, too confused to make heads or tails of where his cousin began and where the room ended. "You don't look like you're handling all of this very well. Not, of course, that I _blame _you. It's still a bit of a shock for me, too, and I know that we're probably going to have to call around and make sure one of the adults knows before long and…"

Louis was rambling again. It was what he always did when he was nervous or uncomfortable or just didn't know what to do with himself.

Louis' ramblings had always been a source of teasing from Fred and James, but then again, _everything_ had been a source of teasing for the two males.

They had never tried to be mean to anyone, but it had never been terribly easy to resist the urge to rib their cousins and classmates. Certainly, many of a teacher would agree that the boys had both lived up well to their namesakes.

But now? How was James meant to be part of a prankster duo if one half of the duo was gone? James couldn't even remember a time when his cousin _wasn't _just a mobile call or a letter away.

How was he supposed to wake up tomorrow and every day after that with the knowledge that Freddie was much, _much_ further away than a simple call or owl?

How…

"Jamesie, are you okay?" Louis asked, putting a comforting hand on James' shoulder, but when Louis spoke, all that James could hear was Freddie's voice.

He jerked away from Louis' hand, his breathing still jagged, his worldview still swimming with tears as his brain struggled with the idea of…_no more…no more Freddie…Freddie…no more Freddie…where is he? Where is he? Why isn't he here…where is he…why aren't i…why aren't I with him?_

_I'm supposed to be with him._

"Don't call me Jamesie," James grumbled abruptly, folding in on himself, Freddie's face still swimming in front of him. "_He _calls me Jamesie. _He _calls me Jamie, or Jamie-boy, or all of that kind of stuff…you can't call me that. Not…not you…"

"Alright, James, that's fine…" Louis got to his feet, looking down at James awkwardly. The blond had always felt comfortable around James and Freddie, squashed between the two in age, and often involved in their pranks.

But now, with Freddie…well, things were certainly a lot different, or at least, were _going _to be a lot different, weren't they?

Louis was no longer going to be the hanger-on, the third mate to the Weasley hijinks; not with James looking so haggard and jagged. Not with Freddie…not with Freddie _dead_.

James was curled inwards, hands wrapped around his head, breath still coming in jaggedly, rushed and uneven. He couldn't seem to focus on anything as Louis walked away, calling back to James with promises of a glass of water and some crackers.

"_When I get back, we can celebrate, okay, Jamesie? You, me, and Lou. We'll all go, the three of us, and drink until it's impossible to stand up," _Freddie had said, making James laugh at the thought of Louis shambling across the beach drunk. _"When I make the team…man, Jamesie, when I make the team, you'll be so proud of your big cousin Freddie. I'll sign something for you, for when I get famous. Or maybe I won't need to, considering you'll be on your way to a hotshot position on Puddlemere not too long from now."_

But now…Freddie was gone, and he wasn't coming back. And James wasn't sure he wanted to ever even look at a broomstick again, let alone let himself wrap his mind around the idea that it was _Quidditch _of all things that had taken Freddie.

(_Quidditch and the beginning of a heavy storm. No one had been able to see much, and Freddie had always liked to show off, bragging about how high up he could fly, how easy this was for him. He hadn't seen the Bludger coming right for him, and the Beater who had struck him hadn't even realised Freddie was falling until he was halfway to the ground.)_

"_James, it's gonna be okay, I promise._" That's what Freddie had said as he prepared to Floo off, a crooked grin on his face as the twenty year old leaned on the fireplace of Shell Cottage. "_I'll be back before supper, and we'll celebrate my success. You'll be here, right? Waiting for me? The both of you, I mean. I want you dolts to be the first two I tell."_

"_Of course," _James had responded, because what was the worst that could happen at a simple try-out? "_We'll be right here, snoring away, waiting for you to come moping back in like the big idiot you are, because you're just a reserve._"

"_Asshole," _Freddie laughed, and then he was gone. Just like that, he had stepped into the fire, and never come back.

The world wasn't just jagged, it was _broken_. Because Freddie was _gone_, and how could that make any sort of sense?


	43. Fred&Rose: Rest My Case

_July 18, 2019_

Dealing with her cousin Freddie was a bit like dealing with a child, though only if said child was constantly hyped up on sugar and had access to a lifetime's supply of magical firecrackers that could spell out every cuss word known to man, and if that child also had a tendency of running off to play hide-and-seek as though Rose was still in primary school and had time to waste on playing such stupid games as hide-and-seek, when it was so obvious that Freddie was doing nothing more than sitting in his waste basket, like he always was when he wanted to avoid her.

Rose wasn't even sure her parents understood just how _annoying _Freddie was; if they did know, then it was a very cruel crank on their part to force her to spend so much time around him over the summer while her father and uncle ran the shop downstairs.

Freddie was a pest, and his childish behaviour was made even worse by the fact that he was nearly three years older than Rose was, considering that Freddie would be turning sixteen in less than a month.

And he was always making up _stories_, creating elaborate weavings of absolute _fiction _to get out of trouble, such as this morning, when he had broken Roxanne's glasses and somehow managed to convince everyone that it couldn't have _possibly _been him that had sat on her glasses, because he'd been too busy stocking inventory in the shop.

(Which was ridiculous, as anyone who had ever met Freddie knew. The boy avoided work like it was carrying a nasty disease.)

But all of that was the sort of stuff that Rose could handle. It wasn't the stories, or Freddie's exuberant attitude that bothered her.

It was the snide comments he made about her, the rude little things he whispered in her ear when no one else could hear. It was how he followed Rose around, teasing her, poking her, until she was nothing but easily snapped bone, and Rose was left wondering what _she _had ever done to make him do this to _her_, of all people.

Freddie had always rubbed her raw, until she had nothing left to give; he pestered Rose until she gave in to his whims, and it always ended the same way every time, with Rose regretting ever even letting Freddie talk to her in the first place.

She knew that Freddie was more than aware of what he was doing, going after her, following Rose around and bugging her to no end until she wanted to murder him. He knew how to get under her skin, his annoyances cutting her to the bone.

But no one else seemed to see it. They thought that Freddie was funny, that he was just a jokester, a prankster, an immature kid who would never grow up. They didn't see the meaner side to his jabbing, the harsher side to his jovial demeanour.

Sure, Freddie was the boy who would never grow up-he was certainly enjoying acting like he was still just six years old, instead of nearly sixteen-but he didn't seem to mind using this notion to hurt Rose every time they were around each other.

Each Sunday dinner, each Christmas, had become a nightmare for Rose. She hated walking through the hallways of Hogwarts, convinced that Freddie would show up to bother her at any moment.

Rose could barely even recall how everything had transitioned from normal and relatively happy to the always-on-edge life that she had now.

She knew it had started not long after Rose had started Hogwarts. Freddie had followed her into the library, asking all sorts of questions about the books she was going through, and at first, Rose had though he was merely taking an interest in her hobbies.

But then he started grabbing the books, holding them above Rose's head, or even banishing them back to where she had found them.

The then-fourth year Freddie had seemed to find all of it hilarious, but Rose had burst into tears after the third book that Freddie banished, and Freddie finally seemed to grow bored, shoving Rose from her table and tossing her bag across the library.

And it had only gotten worse over the years, as Freddie grew older and bolder. He followed Rose around all the time, breathing over her shoulder, leaving the thirteen year old more shaky than a leaf, and paranoid as hell to boot.

Currently, Rose was hiding in her uncle's living room in the flat above his shop, hoping that Freddie was too busy goofing around downstairs to bother her.

It was just easier to accept that she was never going to convince anyone of what a git Freddie was than bother trying to get someone on her side; for the most part, Rose had become accustomed to avoiding Freddie at all costs.

"What'cha doing here, little cousin of mine?" Freddie asked, leaning over Rose's shoulder, a grin spreading across his face in a way that only filled Rose with dread.

Why was he always bothering _her_? What had she ever done to Freddie to deserve all this bullying? She barely even talked her him, and yet, he treated her so terribly.

"What _are _we reading?" Freddie asked, attempting to snatch the book from Rose's hands, but she only scooted away from the older boy, wishing Uncle George would come upstairs and see what was going on.

She might have accepted that Freddie was never going to leave her alone, but that didn't make him any easier to deal with, not when he harassed and picked on Rose so often.

"I wasn't bothering you, Freddie. Leave me alone before I go get your mother," Rose threatened, but Freddie only laughed. It was, after all, an empty threat. Rose had never snitched on him before, and she never would, because Freddie was older and bigger and scarier.

"All I wanted to do was spend time with my _favourite _little cousin. Don't you _like _me, Rosie-darling-dear? I like _you_, Rosie, very much so, in fact. You're always so much fun to talk to, though I feel like maybe you don't like me nearly so much as I like you. That's not true, is it, Rosie? You _do _like me, don't you?" He was still grinning so smugly, and all Rose wanted to do was punch him in his stupid face.

"Aren't you every going to grow up, Freddie?" Rose sighed when Freddie shook his head, eyes glinting with an unnerving sort of glee. "You're a _bully_, Freddie Weasley, and a git besides. All you ever do is pick on me, when I haven't done anything to even deserve it. You bother me when I ask you not to, and every time I ask you to stop, you act like you've never done anything in your life. I don't like you _jabbing _at me all the time. It's not _nice_, Freddie. Sometimes…" she breathed heavily, admitting what had never been said before, "sometimes, I'm afraid of you, because of the things you, and the things you do to me. I don't understand-I don't deserve all of this."

"Well, I suppose that sometimes I do shove you around a bit, and I guess I could see why that might scare you. But you're being such a little baby about it, honestly, Rose. I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of something so small. It's not like I'm bullying you or anything," Freddie said, almost laughing, and Rose felt her ears burn. He didn't understand, or care at all!

"I rest my case," Rose said determinedly, slamming the book shut, glowering up at her cousin, who merely shrugged, one side of his mouth cocked into a grin. "If you _honestly _think that what you're doing to me is not bullying, or even harassment, then there is simply just nothing I can do to convince you otherwise. We're _cousins_, Freddie, and you pick on me and treat me like crap all the time. I don't know why you do this kind of stuff to me, I _really _don't, but it's going to stop. It's going to stop _now_, do you get me, Freddie?"

"Whatever, kiddo. You wanna go tattle to your mummy and daddy like the little baby that you are, then that's fine by me. I really don't care what you do. You're overreacting anyway, the adults will see when you tell them all about how big, bad Freddie picked on poor wittle Rosie-poo." He laughed again, a mocking laugh, and left Rose to sit on the couch all alone.

She had always been scared of Freddie, ever since he had started bullying her back in first year, but not anymore. Rose wasn't going to stand for his behaviour anymore.

"I rest my case," she whispered again to the empty room, tears stinging her eyes. "I rest my case. Freddie Weasley is a big bully."


	44. Fred&Albus: Side By Side

_September 1, 2017_

Freddie didn't think that his cousin Albus seemed to be much of the Gryffindor type.

Albus was quiet and mousy, and kept mostly to himself; he was also studious and intelligent and seemed to enjoy making himself helpful whenever someone needed him to.

Albus was more the type to end up in Hufflepuff in Ravenclaw, rather than the brash and bold house of Gryffindor, with the likes of Freddie and James.

Yet, despite Freddie's assumptions that his little cousin was nothing more than another write-off Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat apparently saw something more in Albus' head than Freddie, or anyone else, ever could.

The first year, and newly sanctioned member of Godric Gryffindor's house, was currently nibbling quietly at his shepherd's pie that had magically appeared on his plate, while ignoring his older brother, James', loud boasts about Gryffindor claiming itself another Potter.

Albus had so far not said a word to anyone else at the table except for the equally shy and quiet girl sitting next to him, who Freddie vaguely recalled was one of the Cornfoot triplets.

It was weird for Freddie to look at James and Albus as they sat next to each other; for the first time, Freddie had a decent side by side comparison of the two Potter boy, making it possible to notice things he had never paid attention to before.

There was the obvious physical differences-James' brown eyes and ruffled auburn hair, along with his more athletic build was in stark contrast to Albus' green eyes, darker locks, and the appearance of someone who spent much of his time indoors.

There was a more tense expression on Albus' face than had ever been on James', who had the type of personality that led more often to laughing and joking with relative ease.

Albus seemed to be making himself smaller as the dinner conversation around him got louder, hiding in his food and his polite conversation with the Cornfoot girl; in the meantime, James was thriving on the attention that his fellow students were giving him.

But there were similarities between the two brothers as well, similarities that Freddie could only have ever picked up on when the two brothers sat side by side, as they were doing now.

There was the way they both moved around a lot, as though sitting still was uncomfortable and difficult to do; the way they both shrugged and waved their hands when speaking; the way their eyes lit up whenever something exciting happened.

There was the fact that both James and Albus leaned inwards, elbows propped up, giving the impression that they were intently listening to everything around them, hanging onto every word spoken, every joke told, every noise made.

A side by side comparison of the two brothers was revealing to Freddie that perhaps his cousin Albus was entirely different from James, like Freddie had always thought.

He could see the similarities that marked them as siblings, with a side by side observation, the two of them sitting next to each other at the Gryffindor table, one wearing the traditional first year robes and the other already with his Gryffindor patch proudly attached to his chest.

But seeing a few similarities between brothers didn't mean that Freddie understand any more than before as to how _Albus Potter _of all people had ended up in Gryffindor, when he so obviously didn't have the sense of reckless bravery that nearly every Gryffindor had.

Had Albus perhaps begged the Hat to put him in Gryffindor, to appease his parents and brother, despite their comments otherwise of loving him regardless of what house he ended up in-especially considering how often James had brought up the possibility of Albus ending up in Slytherin?

Begging wasn't a very Gryffindor-like trait, though, and besides that, Freddie didn't think the Hat made too many housing placements because of begging requests from scared first years.

But that left only the option of the Sorting Hat having seen the nature of a Gryffindor in Freddie's little cousin, and simply just didn't make any sense.

Albus Potter wasn't brave or brash or bold or anything at all like how a Gryffindor ought to be.

Looking at him, side by side, with all these other kids who had been accepted into the house of Godric Gryffindor, Freddie could not see in his cousin what traits the boy might have that made him worthy of being a Gryffindor.

Had the Hat, perhaps, made a mistake by putting Albus in this house? Could the Hat even _make _such a big mistake?

Or was there some hidden aspect of a true Gryffindor inside of Albus that Freddie had never seen before?

Albus looked up then, as though he just _knew _that Freddie was thinking about him, and the older boy looked away, awkwardly avoiding Albus' gaze.

The eleven year old had always made Freddie uncomfortable, as though he could read Freddie's every thought and knew exactly how Freddie felt about the younger boy.

Freddie certainly hoped that Albus _didn't _know what he was thinking, especially right now, because he most likely wouldn't appreciate having his house placement questioned, least of all by Freddie.

Freddie looked around the Gryffindor table again, looking at all of his new housemates sitting side by side with the students who had been here previously, who _belonged _here in the house of the brave at heart.

None of the first years looked much like Gryffindors, to be honest.

They were all scared little kids who were in a new place that was completely different from the one that they had left behind only hours before.

Perhaps, Freddie thought to himself, at first _no one _really _belonged _in Gryffindor. Perhaps that reckless bravery had to be learned and earned over the years. Perhaps Albus _did _belong in Gryffindor and the parts of Albus that made him belong simply hadn't shown themselves yet.

Or, Freddie thought as he looked at Albus, who was quietly sitting side by side with all of these other Gryffindors, perhaps Albus knew something about the true nature of a Gryffindor that Freddie had simply never been able to figure out.

He had to chuckle at that thought. There was simply just _no _way that his little cousin, _Albus bloody Potter_, of all people, understood what it meant to be a Gryffindor, certainly not more than Freddie, who many had claimed was the embodiment of a true Gryffindor.

Albus had to be a fluke, a flaw, or an error in the system. He didn't belong in Gryffindor, not with Freddie and James. He wasn't a Gryffindor, not really. Looking at Albus side by side with everyone else, it was so obvious to Freddie that something was amiss.

The Hat had made a mistake.


	45. Fred&Lily: Friend

_December 23, 2013_

Lily was James' little sister, a scrawny kid with knobby knees and long, red hair who enjoyed tagging after all of the older kids in the hopes of finding herself suddenly attached to one of them, their own personal sidekick.

She seemed to enjoy following Freddie the most, to the point where the other cousins called Lily his little shadow or his little sidekick.

Not that Freddie minded very much. Lily was clever, for a five year old, and she always laughed at all of Freddie's jokes, even the ones that weren't actually very funny.

Freddie liked his cousin Lily, and, considering some of the other little kids he had to put up with at every Weasley family outing, she really wasn't that bad, even if she was really just kind of a little baby kid.

It was certainly nice, most of the time, to have someone who agreed with his every opinion, someone who thought that Freddie practically walked on water.

If Freddie had thought about it, he probably could have gotten Lily to do just about anything he wanted, because Lily had the innocent love of a little kid who looked up to Freddie.

Not that he didn't also consider Lily to be his friend; she was a sweet, kind little girl who, despite being five years younger than Freddie, gave fairly sound advice whenever he needed it.

If he had been the sort of person who used others to get what he wanted, though, it would have been all too easy to suggest a few words to innocent little Lily, and she would happily do whatever he asked of her.

No, no, it would _never_ have occurred to Freddie that he might be able to use his little cousin-his little sidekick, his shadow, his friend, even-to get what he wanted.

Freddie would _never_, _ever_ have even considered such a notion in his wildest dreams.

…

"Hey buddy, hey pal, hey friend of mine," Freddie said loudly, peeing in to watch the five year old sprawled across the bed in the room she was currently staying in with the rest of year family. "Quick question, and it'll only take a moment, I promise. Can I just talk to you really quickly?"

Lily glanced up from her colouring book, big brown eyes blinking innocently in Freddie's direction. She loved most of her older cousins, but she loved Freddie the most of all; he was funny and clever, and even called Lil his little sidekick, instead of telling her to budge off, like some of her other cousins.

"Sure!" she replied eagerly, pushing herself off of the bed that she shared with her older brothers, the mischievous eight year old James, and the skittish little seven year old Albus. "What are we doin', Freddie? Are we goin' on an adventure? Are we gonna play Quidditch? What're we doing? I'll do anything with you, Freddie!"

This was why Freddie liked Lily; she was a good kid, but innocent still and unaware of the little girl charm she held over all of the adults in the family.

Lily could get whatever she wanted from Grandma Weasley just by being her regular cute little girl self, which meant that _Freddie _could get whatever _he _wanted by using the little kid to suit his every whim and need.

And right now, what Freddie Weasley wanted was some of his grandmother's holiday-themed, sugary biscuits.

"I suppose that it's _kind of _like an adventure. I was thinking that you could help me convince Grandma Weasley to slip us a few extra cookies before the big Christmas dinner tomorrow night. I mean, I'm _sure_ that Grandma Weasley can afford to give us just a _few _early, right?"

"Yeah," Lily mumbled, but she looked back down at her colouring book as if unsure of her response. "But the cookies are for the _dinner_, and for Santa, so he has something to eat while he delivers presents. If we eat some now, then there might not be any left for Santa when he comes to visit us! And then he'll be too mad, and won't give us any presents at all!"

Freddie rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Lily could be a real _child_. Didn't she know that there was no such thing as Santa?

It was Grandpa Weasley who piled up presents by their bed each Christmas, not some mystical, Muggle creation of a jolly, fat man.

But clearly, she was too dumb and little to know anything about how Christmas worked; Lily didn't know _anything_, she was just a little kid.

Freddie almost said something to Lily about it, too, almost sneered at the little girl and almost told her that she was wrong, that there was no Santa, and that there never had been.

He almost laughed in her face, which is what he would have done if it had been any of his other cousins; he wouldn't have even hesitated to mock her if, instead of Lily, it had been Lucy or Rose or Molly.

But it was Lily who was sitting on the bed, eyes so filled with concern that some imaginary present-giver would not have enough cookies for Christmas.

And Freddie found that he simply just could not ruin her Christmas.

Lily was his friend, his little sidekick. She followed him everywhere and thought that he was something akin to a personal hero.

Lily was so innocent, the love she held for her big cousin Freddie was so pure and innocent, and Freddie could not find himself able to tell the truth to the little girl. He could not make himself say the words to Lily, the words to ruin her Christmas.

"Alright, Lils, I guess you've got a good point," Freddie conceded, and her whole face lit up with happiness. "We oughtn't to eat Santa's cookies, that _would _be kind of rude, I guess."

"Yeah, the cookies are for _Santa!_" Lily proclaimed, jumping off the bed to give Freddie a hug, her little head only coming up to his chest. "We can have a few tomorrow night, at the dinner, it's okay, Freddie. You don't have _too_ long to wait."

"I guess you're right," Freddie mumbled, though he still longed to go downstairs and grab a cookie or two. But for Lily, he would wait. For Lily, he would do anything to make her happy. "C'mon, then, you said you wanted to play Quidditch, didn't you? Let's see if anyone else is interested in a match against us."

"We'll beat 'em!" Lily yelled, running out the bedroom door, already calling for the other children to join them outside for Quidditch.

Freddie turned back to look at her colouring book, looking at the picture she had been drawing. It was a poorly scribbled image of herself and Freddie, playing together, with their named neatly printed underneath in careful, little girl handwriting.

_My friend, Freddie,_ it was labelled.


	46. Fred&Hugo: Haze

_August 28, 2022_

Freddie was quite glad that he was not among the ever shrinking group of Weasley descendants who would be heading off to Hogwarts in a few short days' time. It was really only the youngest left anymore, the absolute youngest of Molly Weasley's grandchildren.

And Roxie, of course, who was only just entering her second year. Sometimes, Freddie forgot about the six year gap between him and his little sister. She seemed to be an odd mixture of incredibly mature for an almost thirteen year old and an overly emotional child.

The others that still remained were seventeen year old James, his sixteen year old brother Albus (who got on Freddie's every nerve), and fourteen year old sister, Lily. There was also sixteen year old Rose and fourteen year old Hugo.

Hugo was probably the oddest of the bunch, a quite Hufflepuff who had mostly kept to himself over the years. Freddie had not heard the fourteen year old speak more than a few words at any given time, and he seemed to suffer from an almost crippling shy demeanor.

Freddie recalled that the younger boy had had a painful stutter up until only a few years ago, leaving the boy struggling to communicate properly.

Hugo's stutter wasn't as bad now as it had once been, but could remember many a time when he had found Lily returning to the Gryffindor dorms looking beaten up, having just walked away from a scuffle as she attempted to defend her cowardly cousin from the older kids who sought to pick on Hugo every day.

Hugo…he was certainly a Hufflepuff, that much was obvious, from his awkward, but affable nature, to the way that he was willing to let Lily and Rose fight his every battle for him. Hugo was stiff and withdrawn from the other Weasleys.

(Freddie didn't personally see it, but Cousin Molly insisted she saw the attitude of a soldier in Hugo. Freddie wasn't sure why she would ever think that, considering how scared Hugo was of even his own shadow, but she seemed to know Hugo better than Freddie did. Perhaps she saw something in Hugo that Freddie had not bothered to look for.)

Speaking of Hugo…there was a knock on the door that separated Weasley's Wizard Wheezes from the flat upstairs, and when the nineteen year old unlocked his door, it was to see fourteen year old Hugo, lower lip bloodied and one cheek bruised.

He was shaking and seemed to be struggling to breathe as he pushed past Freddie, laying down gingerly on the old couch, without even so much as a word to Freddie.

He was surprised to see Hugo, not that Freddie minded his arrival very much; it was not the first time that a cousin had popped by the store without any warning and made their way up to the flat. But never before had _Hugo_ bothered to show up without at least Lily to accompany him.

"Haven't seen you in a while, eh Hugo?" Freddie commented, hoping to ease the mood, but the fourteen year old only shrugged, looking forlornly down at his hands, which were scratched and bloodied. "You get into a fight, then?"

"Some kids down the street," Hugo replied shortly, not even meeting Freddie's gaze. "They were talking shit about my mum." He seemed to be living in some sort of haze, his eyes unclear, as though he was no longer entirely of this world.

But then again, Hugo seemed to always be living in some sort of haze nowadays, separated mentally and emotionally from everyone else. Lily had expressed concern about Hugo not too long ago, but Freddie, who rarely ever spoke to Hugo, had tuned her out in favour of talking about his own interests; namely, Quidditch.

"You're getting into fights now, is that it? Without Lily to back you up, even? Looks like Hugo's growing up, eh?" Freddie laughed, but Hugo shook his head, looking down at the floor, face full of shame. "What's the matter, Hu? You're getting braver, by fighting back. If you don't let them treat you like crap, then they can't hurt you, yeah?"

"I'm still a fucking _coward_, though," Hugo replied, scowling at Freddie. His eyes were still covered in the weird haze, and Freddie couldn't quite tell what the younger boy was thinking. "I'm still a scared little _kid_, just like they said. Just like everyone always says. Why am I such a coward, Freddie? Why aren't I brave, like you or Lily?"

"You are brave, Hugo," Freddie said, though he didn't really think so. He was just trying to be nice, to make Hugo feel better, and he knew the fourteen year old could tell Freddie wasn't being honest with him.

"You don't need to lie to me, Freddie. I know I'm not a brave Gryffindor, like the rest of you. I know I wasn't meant to be the first one to run into a fight…but I wish I was…I wish I _was_ brave. At the very least, I wish I wasn't such a _damn coward_ about everything all the time," Hugo grumbled, looking forlornly down at the cuts on his hands once again.

"Well, you don't _need_ to brave like Lily and me, do you? I mean, we're here to protect you, aren't we?" He could see the haze in his cousin's eyes getting stronger as the younger boy separated himself from Freddie, focusing intently on the wounds covering his body. "You don't need to a tough guy, because we're here to defend you."

"I don't _want_ you to defend me!" Hugo cried, leaping to his feet. "I don't _want _to feel useless and helpless. I don't want others to feel like they can take a swing at me, like they can wound me and leave me bloody all the time, because I'm Hugo Weasley, and I'll _never_ fight back. I want to be brave, like the rest of you!"

The haze that normally covered his face was gone, lifted for a few moments, as Freddie stared blankly at the boy. He barely even recognised Hugo then, as he saw the hint of what Molly was always talking about.

The nature of a soldier, of someone strong and willing to fight, was hiding behind the scared fourteen year old Hugo, and Freddie was, for a second, _afraid_ of his cousin. And then the haze fell over him once more, and Hugo was just a little kid again.

"I'm tired of being afraid, of running away from my problems and letting Lily and you take care of me because I don't know how to help myself. I'm going to have to take care of myself at some point, and if all I ever do is get wounds the few times that I _do_ fight back, how am I supposed to stop hiding every time there's danger?" Hugo had fallen back onto the couch, sighing.

"I dunno, Hu. Maybe you just weren't meant to be brave, like Lily and I. Maybe you weren't meant to be a fighter. I mean, if you're scared, then it's okay to admit that you are, and to just let stronger people take care of you. That's our _job_," Freddie replied, but he could tell, even looking through the haze, that Hugo didn't believe him.

"Thanks, Freddie," the boy said, clambering to his feet and walking out of the flat, a brief flash of disappointment crossing his features. "You've been a really big help. I appreciate it."

The haze was still there, masking the anger that bubbled up inside of Hugo. He wasn't going to be _scared_ his whole life. He_ couldn't_ be.


	47. Fred&Roxanne: Quarrel

_August 31, 2014_

"I'm not goin' and you can't make me'," Roxanne explained in a hard voice when her parents knocked on the four year old's bedroom door to tell her it was time to go to bed, because tomorrow, they would all head off to King's Cross station in order to drop off Freddie for Hogwarts. "I don't _like _Freddie no more. He's a meanie, a big, _stinky_ meanie."

Freddie was Roxanne's eleven year old brother, who was going off to Hogwarts for his first year at school.

This was, mostly, the reason why Roxanne didn't like him anymore, because now he was ditching her for school, and if her brother loved her, he wouldn't leave her, right?

At least, that was the argument that made the most sense to her, and so, she pulled the covers over her head and yelled at anyone who tried to wake her up.

If they were going to drag her older brother away for a whole year, then Roxanne would rather stay put in bed and sleep until he saw sense and came back to her.

After all, Freddie loved her, and people who love you don't leave for nine whole months just to go to some dumb school all the way in Scotland, right?

People who love you don't get into a big fight with you the night before just because you were trying to sneak on board the train by hiding in their luggage.

And that meant that he _had _to see sense, and when Freddie did, he'd come leaping form the train and run back to their flat above Daddy's shop, crying and begging for Roxanne's forgiveness.

"Roxy, come on, I won't see you until Christmas, maybe not even until next summer. Won't you come to kiss me good-bye, at least?" Freddie asked her through the door, but Roxanne only threw a teddy bear at him and yelled for Freddie to go away.

The two siblings had quarrelled before, mostly about childish things, like who got to sit next to Daddy at dinner, or who got to have the last cookie, but never had such an argument lasted more than a day.

This time, however, Roxanne had refused to talk to Freddie for three days and seventeen hours, and it didn't seem like much of anything would stop the little girl from having a not-so-silent quarrel with her older brother.

Angelina and George were at a bit of a loss for what to do; were they supposed to make the little girl come along anyway, even if it meant a big fight, or were they meant to allow Roxanne to just have her way, and leave her behind?

They figured the best option, for now, was to just leave the children to work it out and hope that by tomorrow morning, things would work itself out.

After all, their kids were smart and loved each other, and it wasn't like Roxanne could go for very long without eventually breaking down and seeking out her older brother for comfort.

Roxanne adored her brother too much to allow something like a silly argument keep her from following him around everywhere and being his giggly little sister.

"Hey, Roxie, come outside with me," Freddie asked later that night, knocking gently on her door. Roxanne had been sitting on her bed for almost three hours in near silence, and the sound of her brother's voice made the little girl jump.

She was very tempted to end the quarrel right then and there, to forgive her brother and run off to have one last fun night with him, but instead, Roxanne put on her most stubborn face and went to open her door, fully intending on shooing him away.

He was standing just outside, holding a firecracker and a strawberry cupcake out as offerings, a tentative smile on his face when she gaped at the cupcake and asked,

"Is that mine?"

"If you come outside to the roof with me, it'll be yours," Freddie replied, and Roxanne seemed to forget all about any quarrels she might have just been previously having with her brother, instead choosing to follow him through the apartment and up the ladder that led to the roof.

Up on the roof, there was an old towel and most of the pillows from Freddie's bed all propped up on the ground, next to a plate of strawberry cupcakes and more firecrackers, along with those little Muggle poppers that one might throw at the ground to create a small cracking noise upon making impact with the ground.

There were fairy lights glimmering all around and Roxanne thought it was all very magical as she sat down atop the pillows with her older brother, having now almost entirely forgotten why they had been quarrelling in the first place.

"Look, Rox, shooting stars," Freddie said to her softly, bumping Roxie with his shoulder and pointing at the night sky above them.

In fact, the "shooting stars" were nothing more than special firecrackers he had gotten from his dad's store below, but Roxanne looked up in amazement all the same, watching the lights from the "stars" glimmer and float around them.

"Make a wish, Roxie," Freddie said, grinning, "you gotta wish on a star so it'll come true. Anything you wish, just hurry."

"Ok!" Roxanne said, scrunching up her face and focusing on the best wish she could think of. Of course, she knew the rules about not telling anyone your wish, so even when Freddie asked her what she had wished for, Roxanne only shook her head and smiled.

Though she wouldn't tell Freddie this, her wish was that he would stay by her side for the rest of the night, watching the magical fairy lights and throwing firecrackers over the side of the roof.

What Roxanne really wanted was for Freddie to not leave at all, but she realised now that Hogwarts was the best place for him, and so she settled for wishing for just one last great night next to her brother, so that he'd want to come home and see her as soon as he could.

In fact, they did just that, talking and laughing and chasing each other around, eating the strawberry cupcakes and tossing firecrackers until Roxanne fell asleep.

Freddie leaned down the ladder and called for his father, who came up to the roof to help Freddie carry all the pillows and the towel down, and then came back to fetch Roxie, carrying the sleeping girl back to her bed for the night.

And the next morning, when she woke up, all memory of the ongoing quarrel had been erased entirely from her mind, instead replaced by a magical night of fun with her brother, the very last night of summer that she had with him.

Had anyone asked Roxanne what she wished for, the four year old might had said that she'd already gotten her wish, and didn't need anything else.


	48. Lucy&Fred: Awkward

_August 31, 2005_

Fred watched as the other toddler got to her feet, awkwardly holding herself up on shaking legs, only to fall back to the floor with a plop, landing on her bottom.

Lucy was fourteen months old, and Fred was just past his second birthday, though obviously a lot farther on in his walking abilities, which he happily showed off to the younger girl, clambering to his feet and doing a few laps around the rug in his uncle's living room.

Lucy didn't seem to mind that her older cousin was more proficient at walking, and merely grabbed the edge of her father's couch, pulling herself to a shaky standing position, turning to grin at her older cousin, babbling at him.

She turned to smile at Fred, who, undeterred, spun lightly on his feet, becoming dizzy as he did so. He heard Lucy's happy giggles as he fell to the ground, and she leaned over him, still clinging to the couch with chubby baby fingers.

The two young toddlers could hear the sounds of someone in another room, pots and pans being slammed, voices speaking loudly, but they weren't interested in the sounds of grown-ups.

The two were focused intently on their legs, their hands, shifting them around, showing off what they were able to do with their limbs.

Lucy giggled again, covering her face with her fingers, occasionally peeking shyly out at her older cousin. She normally felt awkward around her other cousins, who were so loud and colourful, but it was nice, playing with Freddie.

"What'ya doin'?" asked a bossy voice, and they both turned to see Molly, who was not quite four years and five months old. She had her hands on her hips, and scowled at Lucy's, whose baby smile slipped away.

"Maw-maw, we pway. Me Fwed pway." She explained as best as she could, but Molly only rolled her eyes, stating that she didn't feel like hanging around two babies.

"Not babeh," Fred whispered to Lucy after Molly left, and the little girl giggled again. "We not babehs." He took her hand, smiling at his little cousin.

….

_March 19, 2011_

Lucy felt the world spinning around her, and she laughed, feeling her feet turning round and round below her, and her hair whipped around Lucy as she spun around, arms swinging wildly.

It was fun, turning circles in her backyard, and she didn't even stop or bother slowing down when she heard the chuckling of her older cousin, Fred.

He was watching her from the porch, a glass of orange juice in his hand. She laughed again, still spinning even faster, her skirt twirling around like a bird, and Lucy felt so _free._

The grass was so green, and as she fell-an awkward stumble, her legs bending strangely, her feet missing the correct patch of earth it was searching for-her eyes landed on the blue of the sky above.

"You're so weird," Fred said, as she stretched out her arms, waving them through the air like she was swimming. Lucy only smiled at him with a happy look on her face, remaining on the ground.

Fred felt awkward around his cousin, with her bright, happy grin. She followed him everywhere, asking questions, insisting that he spend time with her. She was…_strange_.

She believed that people had once been able to fly on their own, that Muggles ought to know about magic, that they weren't going to live forever.

"_Aren't we, though?" _he had asked the seven year old, but Lucy only shook her head and continued to stare up at him with those searching eyes of hers. She seemed to know everything about him, and that made Fred uncomfortable.

Lucy certainly seemed to enjoy standing out from the rest of them.

….

_December 11, 2017_

Fred stirred the contents of his cauldron in the cold dungeon, avoiding making eye contact with his younger cousin, Lucy.

She was a third year, and he a fourth, and in different Houses even-yet, despite that, they had both gotten in trouble for charming several potions to explode and letting them bubble uncontrollably in several different classes and had been put in the same detention together.

Professor Longbottom had seemed uncertain who, exactly, was guilty in this situation, but both Fred and Lucy had confessed. They're punishment was to help Madame Pomfrey by making her some new Pepper-Up Potion.

Of course, both Weasleys knew who, exactly, the guilty party here was-but they weren't going to speak up about it, because they were family. That was the one thing that both Fred and Lucy could agree on: family came before anything else.

Fred stared at the back of Lucy's head, noticing the elaborate braids in her hair. The thirteen year old was wearing a cloth dress of a green hue, with stitchings of badgers around the hem.

Lucy made her own clothes a lot, and had even offered to make Fred a jumper for Christmas; he, of course, always turned her down, because Lucy was weird and different.

_Lucy was awkward_. That was the problem with her-she was so _awkward_, and she didn't even seem to know it at all.

The offbeat comments, the inappropriate laughter, the way she would space out in the middle of a conversation, only to shake herself back to reality a few minutes later, claiming she was merely visiting her friends.

Lucy claimed to be able to talk to the ghosts at Hogwarts, even though everyone knew that the ghosts had all disappeared one day seventeen years ago without any explanation. Lucy said that the ghosts weren't gone, they were just hiding.

Lots of people didn't really like Lucy, who made them feel uncomfortable and put-off. To be honest, Fred wasn't overly fond of her, either, but he knew Lucy didn't mean to be so odd.

It was just who she was, this little girl of awkward, and Fred knew that, weird or not, she was his family. He didn't exactly love her, but she was kind and sweet, and had even offered to take the blame after Louis' and James' pranks.

(Fred didn't know a lot of people who would do that for anyone else, even their own family. That was why he, too, had taken credit. Also, he knew Professor Longbottom would never believe Lucy all on her own.)

"Lucy?" he began anxiously, stirring his potion. She didn't even look up, just nodded at him, concentrated on scrubbing out a stain on her skirt. "Lucy, you shouldn't have lied, you know. You shouldn't have told him it was you."

"You did, too, didn't you?" she looked up at him, still smiling that same crazy grin that always made Fred feel awkward and naked, like Lucy could see everything about him. "That's family does, isn't it? Lie for each other, protect each other? I learned that from you, Fred."

_I learned that from you, Fred. _


	49. Lucy&James: Empire

_August 3, 2017_

James wanted to be a king one day.

He wanted to be a king and rule over his own empire and be in charge of everyone he knew, especially those who didn't appreciate James the way he deserved to be appreciated.

He figured he probably deserved it, considering he was the oldest of three kids, and he hardly ever got a moment to himself.

He wasn't asking for a big parade, just for everyone to realise how great he truly was, compared to any of them.

James was special; he was talented and smart and funny, plus a million other things that made him so interesting.

People liked James, and they liked being with him and talking to him.

People liked James, and they liked being with him and talking to him.

(It had not yet occurred to the twelve year old that this was, in many ways, connected entirely to his parents.)

He figured most of his friends probably respected him, and might have even looked up to him.

He liked that idea, being look up, having his opinions matter; his opinions never seemed to matter at home, where his parents' word were usually the finally say on everything.

(Like the time he had asked to get a toy basilisk from the store, and they told him no, with such strange looks on their face. He didn't understand why, but they had told him not to argue, and no more was said about the basilisk.)

No one respected him at home, and certainly no one cared what he had to say-not at home and certainly not at his grandmother's house.

If he ruled an empire, though, his own empire where his word was law and no one could speak against him if he didn't want them to-didn't he deserve people's respect and admiration?

He _was _James Potter after all, and as far as he was concerned, he deserved the respect of those around him, at least.

James disliked the fact that his older cousins held him with a sense of disdain, the way they waved him off or treated him like was some kind of child-like he didn't know anything at all!

No one listened to him or acted like his opinion held any meaning.

(James knew better, though. He knew he was important and meant for something more than just being _another Weasley grandchild_. He was going to stand out.)

If he ruled an empire, his cousins would have to listen to him-if they didn't, James could just have them punished.

They would have to respect him and admit that he was just as mature as they were or possibly-probably, James thought with pride-more mature than they would ever be.

Currently, James was sitting on the banks of the river that ran a few miles away from his grandmother's house.

(The others all called her Grandma Molly, but the Potters had only the one, who they referred to as Gram. Gram and Gramp, and liked Gram's house, where he could hang out in Gramp's shed all day, watching him fiddle with a dusty motorcycle.)

James scowled down at the water, ignoring the playful laughs of his younger cousins and the loud yelling from his older ones.

He felt caught in the middle of it all, with all of his older cousins just a few years apart from each other and having spent a majority of their life together; out of the remaining ones that were younger than James, two were his siblings and the rest hadn't even started Hogwarts yet.

Sure, James' favourite cousins were Fred and Louis, but he hardly ever saw them, even though they were all at Hogwarts, mostly because Louis was in Ravenclaw and a year older, while Fred was two years ahead of James.

"Fancy a swim?" his cousin Lucy asked, dropping onto the grass next to him. She had leaves in her hair and her bathing suit was still dripping with water from the river. "It's rather warm, granted, but I certainly bet it would take that scowl right off your face. Come on, James, how about a quick swim, you and me?"

"I want to rule an empire," he told her, expecting some sort of shocked look or a comment about how self-absorbed he was nowadays. The others didn't seem to like James much and always told him he was acting so selfish and self-centered these past few years. "I want to be in charge of everyone and everything-and I want to have my own empire that's named after me so I can rule for a hundred thousand years."

"That's nice," Lucy said, dipping her toes into the river, a towel that had been wrapped around her waist coming loose as she made ripples in the water. "Would you rule with a queen, or try to do it all alone? I should think you'd be quite lonely without a queen to talk to for a hundred thousand years."

"Why would I get lonely, though?" James demanded, brushing Lucy's towel away from him. "I wouldn't have to share my power with anyone or follow anyone else's instructions. I would be king of everyone and everyone would have to listen to me, because if they didn't, I'd….I'd _chop _their head off with a big sword!"

"How violent," Lucy said in a calm voice, now leaning down to cup her hands in the warm water below. "With a big sword? You'd make a mess everywhere, the carpets would be ruined with blood. Are you sure that's the wisest decision? If you had a queen, maybe she'd be able to tell you that, but ruling all by yourself means no one else is around to give you good advice."

"I'm smart." James said with determination. "I have lots of good advice locked up in my head, just for me. I don't need a queen or anyone else to help me! I'd rule my own empire for a hundred thousand years, and I'd be the best king anyone has ever heard of! I'd be better than King Arthur himself! People would respect me and appreciate me, and they'd tell me how great I am for being such a great ruler. No one would ever disagree with me, because they would all respect how great and wise of a king that I truly am."

"What would a queen ever do for me?" James demanded, turning to look at Lucy, who seemed so content and peaceful, even with James yelling and ranting beside her. "Why would I ever need a queen for my empire? She'd only get in the way of important things like being in charge."

"A queen can offer guidance-she can offer wisdom and friendship and peace. She can be someone to sit with when you're lonely or to cry with when you're sad. She can be someone to argue with and discuss important things with and a queen can someone to dance and play with. A queen can be there to keep you on the right track and make sure you don't act so self-centred."

Lucy smiled at James teasingly, nudging his knee with her foot, and James couldn't help but smile back faintly. He was still rather angry-he still felt left out and ignored and abandoned-but at least Lucy was here with him.

The problems were still around, but now, so was Lucy. Lucy, who was kind and helpful and friendly...like a queen.

Lucy was like a queen, James realised, and the boy was shocked that he hadn't noticed it before now.

"Will you be my queen, Lucy?" He asked in a quiet voice, silently begging her to say yes. "Can you guide me and be there for me and help me from being so self-centred all the time? Please, Lucy? Will you rule my empire with me as the best queen ever?"

"I'd love to, James," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek before pushing him into the warm water of the river below, eyes bright with happiness. Lucy laughed as he splashed around, flinging water at her head. "I'd love to rule your empire with you and help you out, my king."


	50. Lucy&Rose: Leaf

_November 23, 2035_

Lucy set her daughter down in her cot, sighing contently. She hadn't seen her daughter in nearly three weeks, and it had been stressful being away from the newborn.

After all, what if Philip messed something up or wasn't around or got hurt himself? There would be no one to look after Elodie, who was only two months old.

Lucy had been engaged to a kind man named Philip Germaine for three years; they'd met at a photo shoot (he was taking the pictures, and she was modeling) and had fallen into a strange sort of love.

Neither were ready to commit, despite the recent birth of their daughter and the pressure that had been put upon them by family. They were content to live together and raise Elodie, but Lucy didn't even have a ring on her finger.

She didn't mind, because Philip understood her, and the aversion she had to getting married.

(He knew about Luke and the baby she had never gotten to have, the one that still haunted her now, even after eleven years.)

He had been married to a woman for seven years until his wife died, and it was obvious he had never really gotten over it, and they had talked it over together in the first years of their relationship-neither she nor Philip had intentions on wedding any time soon, and that was okay with both of them.

Her parents didn't give their relationship much approval-nor did Philip's-but they did at least seem to understand that it was futile trying to change their youngest daughter's mind about such things as marriage.

The small one-bedroom house she shared with her boyfriend had become cluttered in the eight years they had lived here together.

She had forgotten how many knick knacks and pictures they'd placed on their walls over the years, pictures of the two of them, of family and friends, pictures of the day they had met.

Lucy ran her hand over the wooden walls, looking at the things they had hung up together, trying to remember when and where they had been taken, and who had been there.

There was an old picture in a damaged frame, hanging crookedly on her wall. She couldn't really recall when it had even gotten there, or who it was from.

It was a leaf framed behind glass, fading orange kept in a state of not yet dead by a wooden cover that protected it from the outside.

Lucy considered the leaf, older than she could remember, a blank look on her face; the leaf made her feel something, underneath the surface, something she didn't like.

She barely even noticed the name written in the bottom corner, worn away with age and only readable when she squinted.

_To Lucy, from Rose. August, 2020._

….

_November 23, 2035_

Rose clicked off the television, noticing the silence in her home for the first time in a while.

She vaguely recalled Hannai saying something about taking Tabitha to the park, most likely to play with Hannai's youngest cousin, who lived nearby.

She got to her feet, making her way to the bedroom, wondering if maybe she could find her old coat, now that she had some time to herself.

The coat had been missing for a few weeks now, ever since Hannai had stuck it in the closet during one of their lazy cleaning days, and Rose hadn't seen it since.

Her coat was rather warm, and Rose figured it would probably be best if she at least went to go look for it before giving up and looking for another one.

(It was something Rose had done before, giving up on her search half way through and then buying a new thing to replace the old one; it was why they now had three toasters and fourteen toothbrushes scattered around the house.)

Rose sighed, not wanting to waste hours just shifting through the boxes that had begun accumulating in the bedroom closet.

Half of the things she had found so far looked like they had just been tossed in casually, discarded on a whim; she didn't even remember having packing most of these things away.

Underneath a worn out looking pile of clothes that were probably too small for her or Hannai was a wooden frame, with a leaf stuck between sheets of glass.

The leaf had once been orange or yellow-maybe-but was now the colour of mud, brown and flat, the veins easily spotted.

She picked it up with some hesitation, blowing the dust away that had begun to accumulate on top of the cover.

The leaf was unfamiliar to Rose, as far as she could remember, though there was a name, barely readable, written in ink in the bottom left corner.

_To Rose, from Lucy. August, 2020. _

….

_August, 2020 _

They collected things together, the only thing that brought Lucy and Rose close and truly made the two of them feel like cousins.

Often times, they met just to show off the new things they had found-colourful leaves, stones, or just pretty and funny looking stamps.

The two cousins even shared a special book where their collections went, something they had been handing back and forth to each other for three or four years now.

Neither could quite remember when they had started the collection book, but it had become a part of their life, and even with Lucy in the hospital, Rose had still begged her mother to take her to St. Mungo's to see her cousin.

After all, it was Lucy's turn with the collection book, and Rose wants to show her the new rock she had bought from the museum, a sort of blue stone her mother had said was called lapis lazuli.

Besides that, Rose and Lucy were exchanging gifts today-they both had claimed to have found the prettiest leaves, and Mum had agreed to get the leaves framed behind wood and glass.

Rose couldn't wait to see the leaf that Lucy was giving her, and she especially couldn't wait to give the one she had to Lucy.

It was really pretty, a bright orange colour about as big has Rose's hand, and she had found it tucked into her grandfather Granger's bushes last fall. It had been preserved between book pages and was now very dry and brittle.

It would be nice to see Lucy again, who was currently sick with what had started out as just a cough, but had quickly and nastily detoriated into Spattergroit.

According to Mum, Lucy was very sick, though she would probably be fine by the time school started again.

Auntie Luna wasn't helping matters, constantly sending letters claiming that Lucy would be healed instantly if she'd just do want Auntie Luna said, and take the liver of a toad, binding it tight about the victim's throat and standing naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes.

(Mum didn't seem to really like Auntie Luna, nor did Uncle Percy, and they had both continued to ignore her advice, yet Lucy was still sick.)

There were clouds of fear hanging over Rose as she followed her Mum through St. Mungo's, throwing a coin into the well with the wish that Lucy would get better.

She also wished that Lucy would appreciate the leaf Rose had brought especially for her. Rose couldn't wait to see her cousin, and she tugged on her mother's hand impatiently.

"Come on, we've got to go, Lucy's waiting. We've got to go. I've got to give her my leaf-come on, Mum! Let's go!" she said, rushing ahead and turning to look back at her mother with impatience.

The lump of lapis weighed heavily in her pocket, and the glassed leaf peeking from her mother's bag made her anxious, wanting desperately to just dart up to Lucy's floor and see her.

She would never forget these leaves, nor the special relationship she had with her older cousin, Rose told herself confidently, tugging her mother's sleeve once more with impatience.


	51. Lucy&Albus: Work It Out

_May 3, 2019_

She fiddled idly with the small toy that her younger cousin, Albus, had given her.

The toy was about the size of a fist, maybe slightly larger, and cubed in shape with many different little squares of about six or seven different colours.

Albus called it a "Rubik", though the word and the point of the game-shifting sides around until everything matched up-seemed a little odd to Lucy.

She could, however, understand why the twelve year old loved the game, and why he had handed it to her.

It at least distracted the hands and the mind as they twisted, twisted, twisted the cube, always trying to make everything correct once again.

That idea in itself was just Albus' nature as a human, but he had handed it to Lucy, saying it would help to "calm her down."

Albus himself was currently sitting on the grass next to her, his shoes and socks abandoned, tossed to the side as he scooted closer to the cusp of the lake, his feet just a little too far away to skim the edge of the water.

He was giving her a relaxed grin, letting his legs stretch out, and Lucy kept twisting the little cube over and over in her hands.

_Twisting, twisting, and twisting._

Albus right, she _was_ rather stressed out at the moment, but Lucy couldn't quite seem to grasp how it was that Albus always seemed to just _know _when she was panicking and Lucy couldn't figure out why he was making such a fuss about her calming down, either.

Most people didn't really seem to care about Lucy enough to do that, and it just didn't make any sense for Albus to care so much, either.

"I like you, Lucy," Albus said in a small voice just then, doing his best to lean back over and pat Lucy's legs, though he winced as he moved. "I like you because you're nice to me and you're nice to everyone and you don't get offended when someone isn't nice back to you. But I really don't like it when you get angry or upset, because you're letting them get to you and you shouldn't let anything get to you. They're just being mean…and they're being bullies. You just can't listen to them, you know?"

Lucy turned to look at her cousin, who was still only in his first year and hadn't quite gotten used to the comments, the touches, the glances his way, nor had he become adjusted to the constant onslaught of questions.

(Oh, the questions. What joy the questions always were.)

People asked a lot questions they might not have asked if Lucy wasn't a Weasley and they seemed to a get a lot more annoyed than was really necessary when she didn't respond.

But Albus still was thrown off by the whole thing and the way kids would go out their way to hunt him down just to ask questions about him mum and dad.

It annoyed many of the Weasley descendants, having to avoid the questions, and Lucy was no exception; but it was not her classmates overall nosiness that was making her irritated and frustrated. No, there was something else that was making her turn the Rubik's Cube so quickly in her hands, something much more than obnoxious questions.

"I know, Al," Lucy finally replied with a small sigh. "I'm not _mad _at anyone in particular, though. At least, none of my classmates. I'm fine, really, and the concern you show for me is at least a little obsessive; you can relax about me, Albie. Trust me, I'm _fine_."

"Is it your sister?" Albus asked, and Lucy paused, staring at her little cousin, who was looking up at her with wide eyes. "Is this about Molly-has she upset you again, Lucy?"

There was very little that could upset Lucy, but if there was one thing for certain in the world that _could _annoy her, it was when someone brought up Lucy's relationship with her family.

Lucy and her parents had _very _different ideas on how a family should be run, and her sister Molly always supported their parents, regardless of how incorrect or potentially harmful their parent's views were.

At school, this was often the source of many arguments between the two sisters, as they battled it out over differing views about the necessity of maintaining familial loyalty regardless of how much or little said family deserved it.

Molly and Lucy had just recently had one of those loud "conversations" only an hour ago, and Lucy was angry at her sister for Molly's insistence on continuing to love their parents even if they didn't deserve it.

Lucy had decided to go sit out by the lake and sulk, and it was at the bank that Albus had found her and slipped the Rubik's cube into her hands.

Had he followed her out here, knowing that she was angry at her sister, or was he always just following her around to make sure that she was okay?

Albus has a stone in his hands that he tossed from palm to palm for a brief second before tossing it into the lake, letting go of the stone and letting it splash into the water with a _plop_ noise before it disappeared entirely.

"Can't you guys just work it all out, instead of yelling and acting like you _hate _each other all the time? That's what Dad makes James and me do when we're arguing. We have to sit down and _work it out_, Dad says. Can't you do that with Molly?" Albus' eyes were wide and full of hope.

"I think this might go beyond just a regular old argument, Al. Molly and I _really _disagree on something that is kind of important, and I'm not entirely sure this is the sort of thing that we can just "work out" and everything will be fine. I mean…I told her that if she _really _though Mum and Dad were in the right on this one, maybe I should start looking for a new family. How am I supposed to "work it out" after saying something like that?"

"I can help. I could sit down and listen to the two of you and be very understanding and make sure that you guys don't become mad at each other. I could be like one of those…what do you call them? Moderators? _Mediators_! I could be a mediator for the two of you. I'm _very _understanding." Albus looked so hopeful, like he _truly _thought that such a simple discussion would fix everything, and Lucy almost hated to explain the truth to her optimistic little cousin.

"Al, that really just _isn't _enough for us. I _know _you're understanding and thoughtful and just a _fantastic _little guy, but I think this might just be too much for anyone to handle right now. Honestly, I think Molly and I ought to just avoid each other until things calm down, and then we'll see how things go from there. But trying to work it out just will end up making things worse. Molly and I simply just can't agree on something so important, so we really should just give up on the whole argument and pretend like it doesn't mean anything."

From the look on Albus' face, he didn't seem to think that was much of an answer, but Lucy went back to starting down at the little cube in her hands quietly, wondering if there _could _ever be a way for the two sisters to make amends about such a topic.

Somehow, she didn't think that would ever happen, but it was nice of Albus to try and help her, even if it _was _rather fruitless.


	52. Lucy&Lily: Unfold

_December 21, 2010_

Lucy scrambled down from her mother's lap, running off to breathlessly greet her Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry once more, who both smiled tiredly, as they had been practising their enemies into the wedding for almost an hour now.

Actually, _all _the adults and older children like Teddy and Victoire had been practising, and it was Lucy's job to greet each couple as they began their walk down the aisle.

It was Lucy's job to hand each woman a small bouquet of flowers and each man received a corsage of sunflowers to place around their wrist as well as a pin to attach to the lapel of their jacket.

Lucy, when called upon to do her job, focused very intently and carefully, doing her best to make sure that the flowers didn't slip or get crushed as she passed it off to the various couples.

Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry were the very last to come into the home-made church, and once thus finished, Lucy was to be allowed to go play, though the six year old thought she might fall asleep before thy finished; it was nearly eight in the morning, and she had been here for two hours now, preparing for a wedding that would begin at four that afternoon.

The little redheaded six year old, bleary-eyed, handed off the last bouquet to Aunt Ginny and gave Uncle Harry the final corsage and flower pin, giving them a sleep smile when they continued on their way down the aisle.

Lucy turned to look questioning at her mother, who pretended to consider the notion before nodding at her daughter, and Lucy skipped off to the little room that had been sectioned off for the little kids, where everyone who wasn't Hogwarts age or older played, blocked by a plastic gate and settled on blankets in a room full of soft toys and dolls.

Lucy made her way over to where her baby cousin Lily was lying, clutching a little paper flower that she kept unfolding and refolding, giggling whenever the flower returned back to its natural state, once more a perfect, pretty little flower.

The unfolding flower was one of Lily's favourite toys-she brought it with her everywhere and made people fold and unfold the flower for her, making Lily's eyes light up as they temporarily destroyed and then quickly revived the pretty flower that shared her name.

Lucy had heard her Uncle Harry mention once before that the paper flower was a lot like Lily herself, in the way that, when someone unfolded her, they found a thousand reasons to smile.

She wasn't sure who was unfolding her cousin, or why they were doing so, but she had always thought that her Uncle Harry was a little bit weird anyway, so she laid his comments about Lily and unfolded paper flowers very little attention.

After all, there was going to be a wedding later that day, and Lucy didn't need to get distracted by weird comments about unfolding paper flowers and what they may or may not have to do with her two year old cousin.

Lily, who had finally noticed her cousin's presence, scooted over until their legs were touching, and the fabric of their bright white dresses were spilling over each other and Lucy couldn't have separated the two if she tried.

Lily put her hands on Lucy's leg, letting the paper flower just rest on the older girl's skirt, creating an interesting sort of white on white image that made Lucy want to stop and stare for hours.

The toddler giggled, revealing a toothy mouth, and picked the flower up once more, holding it over Lucy's all and letting it fall again, watching as it landed silently into Lucy's lap, its noiseless descent a direct contrast to Lily's loud laughing.

Lucy had never been quite sure _why_ the flower seemed to amuse the two year old Lily, but it was nice to see her smile every time she released the little paper flower just to watch it float back down into Lucy's lap.

"Lu-Lu, unfol' it!" Lily cried happily, and she handed Lucy the flower, having apparently grown bored rather quickly of dropping it. "Unfol' it, unfol' it! Unfol' it, Lu-Lu!"

If there were to ever come a day that someone were to refuse to play along with Lily and her paper flower, then that was probably going to be the day that the world officially ends, as far as Lucy was concerned.

Because, regardless of how silly or childish it felt, when Lily handed you a paper flower, you do what Lily says, and Lucy was certainly no exception to this fact whatsoever.

Lucy took the flower from Lily and carefully unfolded it, showing the toddler the mass of paper that made up the pretty little "toy".

The two year old shrieked with glee, waving her hands around wildly until she fell over, and was left to squirm amongst the blankets like a turtle on its back.

"Fol' iddup! Fol' iddup! Lu-Lu, fol' iddup!" Lily was still laughing even as she struggled to push herself back up into a sitting position, and pointed at the paper in Lucy's hand. "Fol' iddup! Make pwetty, make _pwetty_."

Shrugging, Lucy folded it back up as requested, until the paper was no longer a wrinkled mess but rather a soft, pretty white lily the size of Lucy's hands.

Lily, the little girl not the flower, clapped her hands with delight and leaned over to give Lucy a big kiss on the cheek before patting Lucy's nose affectionately and informing the six year that "your 'da bes', Lu-Lu."

The toddler then proceeded to climb into Lucy's lap, clutching the flower in chubby little hands before falling asleep, letting her head slump against Lucy's chest.

Lucy herself sighed and did her best to squirm out from underneath her little cousin, carefully setting the tot down amongst the blankets, wrapping her up so that the only thing that Lucy see of her cousin was her head and the little hand that still clutched the paper flower.

"You've unfolded her a bit more, haven't you?" asked a warm voice, and Lucy jumped, looking up at her uncle Harry, who was letting his hand rest on the gate. "You've unfolded her and discovered a little bit more about her and even a little bit more about yourself."

Lucy frowned, confused by what Uncle Harry was saying; she _hadn't _unfolded Lily, she had just been making the little girl happy by player with her paper flower.

But her uncle was smiling at Lucy like she had just learned something really special, though she couldn't figure out what that something was meant to be.

All she had been doing was unfolding Lily's little paper flower-that's _all _she had been doing. Honestly. She hadn't been _unfolding _anyone.

"You're weird, Uncle Harry," she told him quietly, and Uncle Harry laughed, which only served to confuse Lucy even more. "I was just playin' with her, is all. We were just playin', I promise. I wasn't tryin' to unfold her or anythin'. We were just _playin_'."

It was the truth, they _had _just been playing together. Lucy hadn't done anything to Lily, and she certainly hadn't unfolded her cousin like the paper flower.

It was only just a silly game that the two year old liked to play, so why was Uncle Harry smiling and talking about Lucy "discovering" more about Lily, when all they had been doing was play around with a child's little paper flower.

Uncle Harry really _was _weird. All they had been doing was playing.


	53. Lucy&Hugo: Wrapped Up

_December 22, 2022_

"_Don't tell them where I've gone or why. Don't tell them anything, because I'm leaving tonight, and they can't follow me. Don't tell them how I left, or the journey I'm taking, or if I'm ever coming back. Don't tell them, Lucy." _

Lucy woke up in the early hours of the morning, bleary-eyed and uncertain where she was. This wasn't her soft bed at home, and the walls she saw upon rolling over were not decorated with shifting paintings of fairies.

She stifled a sharp breath, letting herself adjust to the situation in an effort to remember why she was even here in the first place. And then the cold hit her body, and Lucy remembered where she was with total clarity.

It was the twenty-second of December, just a few days away from Christmas, and they had spent yesterday celebrating Dominique's nineteenth birthday.

It had been an awkward affair, even Lucy could see that, with tensions high between the two daughters of Bill Weasley. No one had really wanted to be around, and Dominique had left without opening her cake or cutting the cake.

No one had seen her yet, and when Lucy had finally lain down for the night, Victoire and Uncle Bill had yet to get back from wandering through the snow in search for Dominique.

(If anyone had bothered to ask, Lucy would have reluctantly told them that Dominique had grabbed her bags and a pinch of Floo powder shortly after the brutal argument with her sister. But no one did ask Lucy, and she didn't offer the information up.)

She seemed to be the only one awake just yet, in this early hour between night and day, just Lucy wrapped up in a blanket that Grandma Molly had given her, surrounded by snoring and heavy breathing and the mutterings of dreams.

The others-her cousins that slept on the floor around her, wrapped up in blankets to keep out the cold-did not stir as Lucy got to her feet, blankets shifting underneath her as she padded over to the door.

The floor was cold to her bare feet, and she moved nimbly, hopping up onto and crouching on a wooden kitchen chair, peeking out the window.

The snow had yet to stop, covering her Uncle Bill and Victoire's footsteps from hours before. They had left just after dinner, and it was now past midnight-what if they weren't coming back, either, and Lucy never saw them again?

What would Aunt Fleur do if her husband and daughters just never came back? Would there be a report written, would they be questioned?

Lucy didn't know what to do, or how to deal with what was going on. She didn't quite understand her place in the family, the younger daughter of Percy Weasley, shy and odd and confused. She just wanted to follow Dominique like Alice through the rabbit hole. Something good would happen if she followed Dominique.

(Maybe she would find herself.)

"Lucy?" a quiet voice asked from one of the many piles of blankets. She turned to see Hugo, bundled up underneath his worn blanket, watching her with wide eyes. He stared at Lucy cautiously, who was crouching in the moonlight that poured in from an open window.

"Shh, Hugh," Lucy whispered, pulling herself upwards, similar to the manner of a cat, still keeping her eyes firmly fixed upon the door. Lucy was mimicking the motions learned from Bupkis, the cat that hung around her house because she fed him milk at night.

"What are you doing, Lucy? Is Uncle Bill back yet with Dominique?"

"Shh," she whispered again as one of the other cousins stirred briefly. Lucy froze, only a metre away from the fireplace, where Grandma Molly's bag of Floo powder hung on a hook. She planned…actually, Lucy didn't know what she planned to do.

Follow Dominique through the fireplace, hoping for the best?

"What are you doing, Lucy? What's going on?" Hugo asked her, and there was an obvious tremble in his voice as he tried to keep from stuttering. "Where is Dominique, Lucy? Where is Uncle Bill and Victoire? Where are you going, Lucy-are you leaving, too?"

"No," she said, pausing, letting her hands swing by her side. She had no idea where Dominique had gone, Lucy had no idea where to even start looking for her cousin. "No, no, I'm not leaving, no."

And she wasn't, because there was nowhere to go, nowhere to look. Dominique was gone, run off far away, and Lucy had no way of looking for her.

Lucy turned to look back at her younger cousin, wrapped up in blankets, watching her with careful eyes. He had already been abandoned by Dominique; Lucy couldn't leave him as well.

"Come on, Hugh," she said softly, walking back to him. She had planned to run off, going through the fireplace after her cousin, but standing in her grandmother's kitchen at two in the morning, she realised how mad her idea truly seemed. "Let's go back to bed."

Lucy led him back to where the rest of the cousins slept, and the two of them lay down, wrapping themselves up tightly in layers of blankets. She heard Hugo's breath slowing as she lay next to him, listening to the wind howling outside as they lay in silence.

Hugo had fallen nearly into total sleep when there was a loud knock on the door. He jumped with fright, and Lucy shifted uneasily as the knock came again, louder.

There was a pounding at the door, a third time, and as Lucy and Hugo lay under their covers, there was a stirring from one of the other lumps where one of their cousins had been shaken from a sound sleep.

"Coming!" James mumbled loudly, groaning and scowling at Lucy and Hugo, who only pulled the covers over their head. James crawled out from under his blankets to open the beaten door, bleary-eyed, hair sticking up in every imaginable direction.

He only seemed half-awake and Hugo giggled when James stumbled over a chair leg on his journey; Lucy nudged him, watching James wander over to the door, but she was only barely holding back laughter herself.

It was Uncle Bill and Victoire, standing in the doorway, covered in snow, both pale faced and shivering. Dominique was not with them, and Lucy frowned from underneath her blanket, curious.

"She's gone," Uncle Bill said shortly, kicking his wet boots outside, pulling off layers and layers of clothing. Victoire shook her head, blonde hair swinging wildly as she took off her coat. "We couldn't find Domi…she just…_vanished._"

Lucy, still wrapped up with Hugo, said nothing. She knew, vaguely, where Dominique was, but she knew she couldn't keep herself from telling them where Dominique had gone, if anyone asked. Dominique had told her not to say anything, but Lucy was concerned.

Dominique didn't deserve to wander the countryside by herself, with no one who loved her or cared about her, no one to take care of her when she was sick, or to hold her hand when she was sad.

"Is she coming back, Lucy?" Hugo asked quietly, but Lucy didn't respond, because she didn't know, and she didn't want to lie to him.


	54. Lucy&Roxanne: Wait For Me

_August 11, 2019_

"Wait for me!" Roxanne yelled, scrambling up the grassy hill. Her cousins were already far ahead, and the nine year old scowled, huffing as she ran.

Roxanne had never been a very tall girl, and she was also the youngest out of the cousin, with rather short legs. She was also not a very big fan of full out sprinting like some of the others.

"Wait for me!" she called again, mentally cursing James for having suggested they make a race out of seeing who could get to the river first-of course Roxie would lose every time! "Guys, can someone please slow down and wait for me? _Please?" _

"Running behind?" asked a quiet, almost dreamy sounding voice behind her.

Roxanne turned to see her cousin, Lucy, making her way up the hill as well, though she didn't seem so rushed as Roxanne.

Lucy was wearing an orange short-sleeved t-shirt today, as well as a slightly lighter shade of orange pants, and a clip in the shape of a smiling mushroom (also orange) in her hair.

Roxanne thought she was crazy. A good person, fun to talk to, but absolutely barking mad.

Roxanne liked Lucy, though, because Lucy was also short, like Roxanne, and she also seemed to be left out on a lot of things, though Lucy didn't seem to ever notice or care.

"Are you okay, Roxie?" Lucy asked, smiling at the little girl as she caught up with her cousin. "Are you sad? You're not sad, are you?"

"I'm fine. I just wish the others would slow down and wait for me." Roxanne explained as they began their descent down the hill. The older cousins were just a blip in the distant already, now so far away that she could barely see them.

"They move so fast, don't they?" Lucy murmured in her breezy voice. "Everyone moves so fast, it seems. No one stops to think about what they're doing or where they're going. Everyone's missing important things, don't you think, Roxie?"

"I guess," Roxanne said hesitantly, for she had never considered the idea herself, and was now beginning to worry if she, too, was missing out on important things like the others. "But why aren't they paying any attention, Lucy?"

"Too busy, probably." Lucy said, shrugging. "Too caught up in _going _and_ getting there _to pay any attention to the road they're taking, and the people they pass. It's like riding in a car, you know, how everything just blurs into nothing as you pass by, until you can't be bothered to make out individual people or buildings or anything like that?"

"Yeah," Roxanne said, truly scared now. She never could quite keep her focus on the people around her in a car or on a broom-did that mean she had been passing up on some really amazing things? She wanted to see the world like Lucy did, so clear eyed.

"Are you sad, Roxie?" Lucy asked again, turning to look at her with curiosity. Lucy hadn't hung around the others this summer, having recently gotten herself a boyfriend-much to the shock of her family, who were convinced that Lucy was never going to date anyone.

"Sad?" Roxanne pondered the word for a moment, trying to decide if this emptiness in her was sadness, or something more. It certainly hurt being ignored, but she was becoming numb to the pain that came when her older cousins left her out.

"Yeah," Lucy said, her voice filled with concern as they continued walking. She had begun twisting the hem of her skirt, something Lucy did when she was anxious or just thinking. "Like, are you upset because the others have left you, or is there something more?"

"I…I don't think so, no. I think I'm fine." Lucy looked a little skeptical, but nodded when Roxie gave her an assured look. "I'm used to it, actually. I mean, I'm so much younger than everyone else-I'm the baby, and you're all in school and…"

"It's okay to be sad about being left out, Roxie." Lucy told the younger girl in a comforting voice, taking Roxanne's hand. "No one will blame you. It can't be easy, feeling so left out. You're still one of us and…we don't treat you like a Weasley sometimes, do we?"

"No one treats _you _like a Weasley, either, Lucy! They always talk about how weird and mad you are, even though you're also kind and giving and loving. I've heard them-Fred and James and Dominique. They complain about you."

Lucy laughed, and Roxanne gave her a surprised glance. Lucy didn't seem thrown off by Roxanne's comments at all, and Roxanne was surprised. She had thought Lucy didn't even know what the others said about her, the mean things they whispered when Lucy wasn't around.

"I know what they say, Roxanne," she said, shaking her head. "I've heard our cousins-I've heard the kids at school, my roommates. To be honest, I really _am _over all of them. I mean, what they're saying is true, isn't it? I'm weird, I'm different-"

"I don't think you're different!" Roxanne said with determination, though she didn't fully mean it, because Lucy was rather odd.

"Really? Then you'd be the first person to tell me that. Even my boyfriend, Luke, is so thrown off by all the little what he calls '_quirks_' about me. I'm different, Roxanne, and I don't mind if it seems weird to other people. It's just who I am, you know?"

"Yeah." Roxanne said in a breathy voice, though she really didn't understand, because Lucy was fifteen and had lived a lot longer than Roxanne, who really didn't understand why anyone would _choose _to be different when people treat you mean if you are different.

Lucy was weird, and no one quite understood how she worked, how she came to the unusual conclusions that she did-but at least she was good for some cousinly advice.

Just then, Lucy started walking off in the opposite direction of the river, and back up the river, whistling quietly to herself.

"Where are you going, Lucy? Everyone else is by the river-aren't you joining us?" Roxanne asked, looking back up at her cousin in confusion. Lucy only smiled, turning to look at Roxanne.

"Nah. I think I'll have more fun back at the Burrow. Maybe I can talk Gran into teaching me how to knit a proper hat. I've never quite understood how. You can come with me, if you'd like," Lucy offered, tilting her head slightly.

Roxanne stopped in her tracks, considering the offer. She could have fun with Lucy and Gran inside, learning how to knit hats and chatting quietly with them about whatever.

Or, she could run back down the hill, where her cousins were pushing and yelling and didn't even seem to notice her absence at all, let alone show any concern for her.

"It's your choice, of course, Roxie." Lucy said, continuing her ascent up the hill, leaving Roxanne to stand on the slope by herself, considering her choices for only a moment longer.

"Wait for me!" Roxanne yelled, taking off towards the river, where her cousins-all so older and willing to just forget about her-were hanging out. "Wait for me, I'm coming!"

No one noticed, as usual.


	55. Louis&Molly: Conditional

_June 20, 2018_

_If you do this for me, I'll do that for you. That's how it works, right?_

Molly hadn't ever been very good at negotiating things; when she had wanted a later bed time, Molly had had to rely on her little sister, Lucy, to convince their parents that eight o'clock was a little bit too early and unreasonable for girls of nine and thirteen.

Molly had tried taking several different debate classes through the years, but she always got tongue-tied and confused by the different opinions and arguments being thrown at her, words coming faster than she could process, leaving her standing off to the side, not understand at all, lost.

_Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. _

Louis was great at negotiating, arguing with people, tearing his opponents' arguments apart with a few well-spoken sentences.

He didn't need to think too hard about what he was going to say, he just instinctively _knew _how to get people to do what he wanted, changing their mind so easily it was like molding dough.

Louis could just look at a person and mentally take them apart, figure out what made them tick, and he used it against them to get what he wanted.

_I have some conditions for you first before I agree to anything. _

It shouldn't have surprised Molly that much when Louis came to _her _for help on his end of the year exams.

She was, after all, one of the smartest (if not _the _smartest) Weasley grandchildren, and she was also a seventh year and head girl.

It also shouldn't have surprised her that, with just a few words, he had left her confused and baffled about what, exactly, Molly was even agreeing to do, as he thanked her gleefully, handing her a few textbooks.

_What sort of conditions do you mean? _

Louis began to walk away from the library table his cousin had taken over, feeling pretty confident, until she called out his name.

_Damn_, he thought this was all done, leaving Molly just confused enough to not argue back, but still understand the importance of her doing-ahem, _helping with-_his homework.

But, as he turned around and glanced at her wide smile, he knew she'd finally figured out what going on here. It wasn't the sort of smile Louis wanted to see.

_I want you to spend Sundays with me, afternoons, playing chess. You and me, in the library._

Wizard's Chess-that's all she wanted, was a partner to play against that wasn't Rose, who was, even at twelve, _extremely _competitive about Wizard's Chess.

She even had her own set, a battered thing she'd gotten from her mum one year that Molly lugged around everywhere with her.

Louis stared at her like it was the end of the world, having to play chess with her, but she only smiled.

_That's my only condition-accept, or take a hike, and find someone else to do your work for you. _

What was there for him to other than accept her ridiculous offer?

Louis was baffled by the idea of playing chess with her just for help with his classwork, but maybe Molly was just lonely and wanted someone to play against.

After all, the Hufflepuff didn't seem to have too many friends, just that strange, silent boy, Peter who hung around Molly a lot.

So, they shook on it, both feeling like they'd gotten off of this deal with something over the other.

_No, see, your piece goes here, Louis. No, here. Here. __Here.__ Merlin, you're slow. _

Molly still wasn't sure why she had told Louis she'd help him with his homework. He was always goofing off and acting disinterested.

He was smart, Merlin, he was-anyone could see that Fleur Weasley did not raise fools for children. But he acted like he didn't care, like he didn't understand, as if the only thing in his head was girls and Quidditch

. Molly could see the intelligent boy peeking out underneath, but Louis did his best to hide that side of him.

_Why do we have do this, again?_

Louis hated Sunday afternoons, when he found himself dragging his feet all the way down to the library, meeting Molly for another boring game of chess that always ended with him losing tragically.

He was a Ravenclaw, yes, but Louis wasn't so much smart as he was clever.

Crafty, almost like a Slytherin, except the Sorting Hat had insisted the best possible place for him was right in Ravenclaw, with his sister, Dominique, and Rose.

Stupid Hat didn't seem to understand that it was _Molly _who belonged in Ravenclaw, not him.

_It is good for you to learn the art of chess. _

It was almost as exciting for her as it was for him, that first essay that came back with an _A _scribbled in the corner, with a little _good job, Mr. Weasley _underneath.

It wasn't an O, not by a long shot, but it was progress. And, more importantly, it made Louis smile so wide, his face stretched.

She laughed loudly, taking the paper from him, congratulating him on a job well done, but Louis only blushed, thanking her for her help, saying it was really _Molly _who had done most of the work-he had just repeated the things she had taught him.

_Thanks for…for everything._

She was graduating at the end of the year, and that scared Louis. Molly had helped him pass all his classes this year-the best he'd ever done-but this was her last year.

She'd be gone after June, and he'd be back in the same place as always, just barely scraping by, just barely understanding what was going on.

He was a wonderful negotiator-rarely did Louis leave someone the chance to make conditions, as Molly had-but school was just too much for him; he didn't like it.

One thing he had grown to enjoy, though, was Sunday afternoons with Molly, bunched over her chess set.

_So…this is it. Our last game. _

She had never let him win, not ever, because that wasn't her nature.

Every Sunday, Molly crushed Louis at chess, smashing piece after piece, laughing when he cried out with shock.

She wasn't going to just _let _him win-he didn't deserve that, and it would be condescending if she did so, like with a child. But Louis was not a child, at least, not anymore.

No, he was a young man, still growing, but so much smarter and stronger than he had been at the beginning of the year.

And he won that last game-not because Molly let him, because she never would.

No, Louis won because he finally figured out the art of chess.

_I have just one condition for you. _

He wins his last game, their very last game, and lets out a loud whoop, not caring when the librarian glares at them.

He's finally one once, finally beaten Molly, and she beams at him, so proud.

And she makes him a deal.

The games don't have to end just because she's no longer going to school. They can still play during the summer, during the holidays, on scraps of paper sent back and forth.

All she wants from Louis is that he try his hardest next year, his O.W.L year.

All she asks is that he do his best, work hard to succeed, and the games could continue.

_Of course I'll try my hardest. Can we play again, Molly? _


	56. Louis&Fred: Piggybank

_August 19, 2015_

_Honestly? You want to know the truth about all of this? We didn't mean to do it-we didn't mean to smash Roxy's piggy bank, we really didn't. _

_I just….look, things happen sometimes, you know, accidents happen and….well, Louis and I, we're really sorry about Roxy's piggy bank and….I know, I know, she's upset and she's just a little kid and how could I try stealing money from a little kid but…look, she's six, right?_

_And why a six year old need money, really-Roxy would usually just gets by on begging from Mum and Dad so…Louis and I just wanted to go to Dad's shop, but neither one of us really had money. _

_It was his idea-he suggested it, not me! This was all Louis' fault!_

…

This is all Fred's fault, really.

He was the one who smashed the stupid thing, that dumb piggy bank. Fred's the one who even told me _about _Roxanne's piggy bank in the first place, he's the one who got the hammer down and told me he knew what he was doing.

We tried fixing it with spellotape-really, we honestly did, and this isn't _at all _my fault.

He was the one who wanted a Mars Bars and wanted to go to Uncle George's shop and I was just going along with him. Fred's always dragging me into things even when I tell him no.

This was all Fred's fault.

….

George and Angelina-and their two children-had, over the years, spread out in the flat over top George's joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

What had started as a dingy little flat over the shop had slowly grown into being able to afford all three flats, and they had even eventually just outright bought the entire place, since it was more convenient than finding a house out of town.

But, still, this had been a slow process, one that George and Angelina had considered every step of the way.

Though they were very cautious with their money, their son Fred was a little more….relaxed about spending it than his parents.

"How much money do you have, Fred?" Louis asked his cousin, Fred, peering over the taller boy's shoulder.

They were eleven and twelve years old, respectively, and usually hung out only because of their familial relationship and their rather mischievous, devious natures.

At least Fred wasn't whiny and childish, like his younger sister, Roxy, though.

At least Fred was funny and smart and not a dumb little girl like Roxy, who mostly just hung around Fred all the time and bothered everyone else.

She was the youngest out of all of them, and so Grandma Weasley was very harsh to anyone who mocked Roxy.

"About two galleons, four sickles, and five knuts," Fred said gloomily, staring down at the pitiful handful of coins. The two of them had planned on hanging around his dad's shop-the one in Diagon Alley, not the one in Hogsmeade that Uncle Ron ran-and looking at stuff, maybe pinch a few things, before buying a Mars Bar from that candy store that sold both wizarding and muggle candy and possibly going to the cinema. The only problem was money, or rather, the lack of it. There was no way they'd be able to even afford two candy bars, let alone a trip to the cinema. "What've you got?"

"Ten sickles and this old ticket to the planetarium from year four." Louis sighed, lying his head down on the couch, wishing they were ten years older and a million galleons richer; he was tired of constantly being told he couldn't go somewhere or buy something because his parents could afford it-really, his family might not have been super rich, but they weren't so poor, either.

His dad was just really tight with money.

(All his uncles were, too, but Louis was only eleven, and hadn't quite made the connection, yet.)

"We're never going to be able to buy what we want, are we, Louis?" Fred asked morosely, flipping one of the galleons off the back of his hand. "I hate this-why can't we get more money without having to get a job or something time-consuming like that. I mean, Dad usually has money, but he's also at the shop most of the time, even on holidays-and Mum's always out looking for articles to write. It's just me and Roxy, never able to buy what we want because when there _is _money, no one's around to buy anything for us. I hate this…."

"Hold on…." Louis said, turning to look towards the room just off the hallway; he could just see through the slightly open door the room of what must have been a very young girl-it was pink and yellow, with flowers painted all over the place. The room belonged to Roxy, and they weren't supposed to go in there when no one else was around. (Angelina had taken Roxy out to a play date and George was somewhere below, helping customers.) "Doesn't your sister have a little piggy bank that she stores her allowance in?"

"Hey, yeah, she does." Fred mumbled, straightening up. "She's been saving up for ages-almost two years now-and I don't think she's ever spent any of it because Roxy's afraid of killing the stupid pig. She'd probably have, like, _tons _of money in there by now. I mean, last time I saw it, she couldn't even pick up that cheap thing of plastic because there were too many coins. I bet she wouldn't mind if we slipped a few out."

"Only problem is, how are _we _supposed to get that thing open without smashing it? Doesn't your mum keep the whole thing charmed shut to anyone except Roxy?" Louis reminded his cousin, who scowled with annoyance, remembering the way his sister had gone crying to mum about someone being to pinch from her pig's stomach just by pulling out the stopper.

(Okay, she'd only even thought about it because Fred _might _have slipped a few galleons here and there when he was younger.)

"I mean, she's not going to notice for a while, though. Roxy hardly ever notices anything wrong in her room, it's too cluttered and filled with whatever dumb things she's most recently lashed onto. And maybe….maybe we can fix it after we've gotten the money, and she'll never even know. Come on, Louis, I even know where the hammer is," Fred said with some determination, clambering to his feet.

Louis, a little more skeptical, follows anyway, at least curious to see what will happen.

The hammer was larger than he thought it would be, at least three kilograms, and it made Louis retreat a little, imagining the terrible clatter and all the pieces that would be flung throughout the room when it came crashing down on the little plastic green pig.

And Roxy's room was also _very _cluttered, with toys and books and clothes everywhere.

Fred found the pig under the bed, hiding behind a pile of old drawings.

It stared morosely up at the two of them, as if it knew its fate, but was hoping they'll change their mind anyway.

It was terribly loud when Louis brought the hammer down, smashing the stupid pig in its stupid face. Fred laughed loudly, calling for him to do it again, so Louis raised the hammer once more, letting it drop, watching as the coins spilled out-galleons and knuts and sickles bouncing all over the pink and yellow bedspread.

"Fred?" someone called from the front door, and Fred's eyes widened-so do Louis', who wondered what they were supposed to do, with Aunt Angelina just in the other room and not enough time to hide the evidence. (And damn, neither one of them even knew how to properly cast _reparo _before Aunt Angelina came in, Roxy on her heels.) "Fred? Louis?" she repeated, looking down at them in confusion. She was, Louis decided absently as he met his aunt's eyes, very tall and very pretty-and, also, very angry. "What's going on here?"

"What have you done to my piggy?" Roxy shrieked, rushing over to the bed to pick up a piece of the shattered green pig, tears welling up in her eyes. She turned angrily on her brother, looking at him as though Fred had just killed her best friend. Fred and Louis look at each other sheepishly, neither wanting to admit the truth of their crime to the six year old, who clutched a piece of pig in her hand. The stupid thing's face still glittered at Louis form among the wreckage of its body. "What have you done to my piggy, Freddie? Why did you hurt my piggy? How could you do this to him?"

"Yes, Fred, Louis, I am very interested to know why you have cracked Roxy's piggy bank open all over the bed with my hammer, and why you've got her money in your pockets." Louis blushed, empting his pockets of the few coins he _had _managed to grab before Aunt Angelina came in, avoiding Roxy's indignant gaze as she realised what had truly happened to her precious piggy bank. "Honestly, I am appalled by your behaviour, boys, stealing from a little girl like that-you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

_Not really, _Louis thought to himself bitterly. _I'm mostly ashamed of getting caught, actually. _


	57. Louis&Lucy: Insanity

_October 23, 2015_

Mr. Maple was Lucy's stuffed animal-he was a toy bear, with brown "fur" and black marble eyes that stared up at nothing.

Louis hated the bear, especially since Lucy usually just left it lying around everywhere, propped up in chairs, just staring at Louis.

If he could have, Louis might have tried to get rid of the doll, except that Lucy would have murdered anyone who even _tried _to touch Mr. Maple.

Lucy was rather _protective _of her doll, the last reminder of her grandmother, who had passed away a few years ago.

(It hadn't been Louis' grandmother, though-he hadn't ever met the woman, and didn't understand the passion with which Lucy held her bear almost as if still trying to cling to the grandmother she had lost. Lucy had once mentioned that she thought Mr. Maple might speak to her grandmother at night when Lucy was sleeping.)

Louis, honestly, thought Lucy was a little….well, _insane, _and Mr. Maple was really only the tip of the iceberg.

Really, the girl would often talk to herself, as though conversing with people only she could see, and she often claimed that there were…_other _children just hanging around Grandma Weasley's house, giggling and skipping and moving things.

One of the children, Lucy said, looked a bit like Uncle George, except with both ears-a young boy, she said, of maybe six or seven years.

Uncle Percy had been worried about his youngest daughter, and had nearly dragged her to St. Mungo's for psychiatric treatment (something Louis swore his cousin still needed) but Aunt Audrey just insisted that Lucy wasn't crazy-just highly imaginative-and that she'd one day grow out of it.

Louis just thought that it was beginning to look really likely that Lucy Weasley might soon be joining Mrs. Scamander in the world of the loonies.

And Mr. Maple, who had been drug around nearly everywhere, to the beach, to the park, to picnics and Quidditch matches-and now, to Hogwarts, of all places.

It was supposed to be _Louis' _job apparently, to make sure no one made fun of innocent, sweet little Lucy, who didn't seem to understand that most eleven year olds didn't keep their toys sitting in their school bags, peeking out for anyone to see.

Besides, that, they were in two different houses (he in Ravenclaw, she in Hufflepuff) and Lucy even had her older sister Molly to look out for her-why had he, of all people, been pinned to his insane cousin?

….

Louis wandered down the hallways one gloomy afternoon in late October, wondering if it was still too early for supper to start.

He didn't have any classes right now, as Madame Penning-the possibly insane Charms teacher-had set herself on fire and cancelled class about forty minutes in.

Maybe he'd be able to find his older cousin Fred somewhere around to goof off with.

Certainly, he wouldn't be going to the library where, no doubt, his cousins Molly and Victoire would be huddled, hunched over their books at tables just _next _to each other, but not actually sitting together.

Instead, as he passed by one of the old classrooms that was no longer in use-Peeves had tried to blow it up, apparently, about five years ago, and now the whole place was a wreck-Louis heard crying.

It was soft crying, like someone was trying to hide it and they didn't really feel like anyone barging in on them, but Louis heard the sniffling and gasping noises anyway, and he leaned up against the door, ready to barge in if necessary.

"Oh, oh!" said a voice from inside, and Louis mentally conjured up an image of a young, snivelling girl with a big nose and a whiny voice. "Oh, you just don't understand-no one understand me, no one ever understands me! All I ever get are stupid people laughing at me and telling me not to look so mopey, and that maybe I should try drowning myself in the lake next time, see if _that'll _help! Oh, all anyone ever does is make fun of me-why should you be any different?"

"Well, I didn't want you to cry anymore, Myrtle," said someone else, and Louis had to close his mouth tightly to keep from making any sort of noise. It was his loony cousin, Lucy, talking inside, her quiet voice just barely drifting through the thick, wooden door. "I don't like it when people cry because they're unhappy-it only makes me unhappy, too, and no one deserves to be unhappy. And you sounded so sad earlier….I just wanted to come in and see if I could help. I'm sorry if anyone bullied you, Myrtle, those people aren't very nice…just because you're dead-"

Louis flung open the door, peeking in to see his cousin, her bright red hair done up in two braids, her almost honey-coloured eyes staring up at Louis, startled.

Other than Lucy, the room was empty-dusty, filled with old books and a few blackened desks sitting on their side, but no other people, and certainly not anyone named Myrtle.

Just Lucy and….oh, Merlin, was that stupid Mr. Maple peeking out from one of the chairs?

"Who were you talking to just now, Lucy?" Louis asked politely as Lucy looked around the room with a frown. He might have to write a letter to Uncle Percy now and discuss the fact that Lucy really _had _gone insane, talking to empty desks, or maybe Mr. Maple, giving them human names. "Who's Myrtle, Lucy? Why was she crying-has something happened to you, has someone hurt you, Lucy? Because if someone's hurt you…"

(Even though Louis thought Lucy was crazy, she was still his cousin, and he was more than willing to hurt anyone who hurt his cousin.)

"Oh, no, I'm fine" Lucy said, laughing quietly, sliding from the desk she'd been perched on. "I was just talking to poor Myrtle about what's happened to her. The poor, sweet darling-she's dead, you know, and some of the other ghosts won't stop teasing her, especially Peeves. He's very cruel, you know, and he's always telling Myrtle she ought to go chuck herself in the lake…." Lucy frowned, her forehead bunching up as she spoke. "Poor Myrtle, she's just so sad all the time."

"Oh…" Louis sighed, wondering if Lucy would ever just be normal. He knew that, at one point, the school had been the home to a dozen ghosts or so, but the whole lot of them had disappeared over fifteen years ago-no one knew why or where'd they gone, just that the school was no longer haunted by anyone except for annoying old Peeves, who always cackled and pelted people with marbles, laughing about how no one could get rid of him.

But, other than Peeves, there were no ghosts left at Hogwarts-Lucy was clearly not quite right in the head again, talking to things that weren't there. "Come on, then, Lucy, let's go," he said, holding out his hand.

"Okay, Louis." She replied happily enough, taking his hand, letting Louis walk her out the door. "Oh, wait!" she cried, running back into the room and returning with Mr. Maple, who smiled dimly up at Louis. "Okay, we can go now," she told Louis, smiling. Louis only sighed again, wishing he didn't have such a weird-and possibly insane-cousin.


	58. Louis&James: Tomorrow

_July 8, 2023_

Puddlemere United-it had been James' dream for ages, to don the blue and gold like so many before him.

Like Wilda Griffiths, the crazy yet talented Chaser who had started a riot in 1999 to win against Wigtown.

Like Luke Apburn in 2008, who had scored the only goals (all 310 of them) the entire game-all with a broken left wrist.

Like June Rigby, who had helped her team with whilst dealing with her broomstick burning beneath her after a nasty trick from the Arrow's Chaser, Millhouse Ticker.

James had dreamt of flying alongside great men and women, talented men and women, who didn't give a damn and did what they wanted and _flew _like lunatics.

It had been his dream-and his cousin Fred's-to fly with them until they were too old, or dead, whichever one came first.

And tomorrow, his cousin would leave for try-outs with a smile on his face, broom in hand, as he stood next to the others, listening to the coach, ex-Keeper for the team Oliver Woods, while he talked about proud moments like this.

And James? He was stuck at Shell Cottage with his cousin, Louis, who kept talking about missed opportunities being gateways to better paths.

In James' opinion, Louis was full of shit and so was James' little brother, Albus.

It was _their _fault that James wouldn't be heading off tomorrow to show off how talented and amazing he was.

It was their fault, telling Mum and Dad about what he'd done, and now he wouldn't be able to go to try-outs.

It was raining horribly outside, almost horizontal rain, and James sighed, watching Victoire wrap another blanket around herself; the fire crackled, but did very little to warm any of them.

Louis was still talking loudly, trying to explain to James the benefits of being taken out of Quidditch for a year, to see other options, other choices he could be making.

Louis, who thought destiny was a load of rot and shit-but was still preaching away about it.

"Louis," James growled loudly, and the older boy looked up, somewhat shocked, "Stop talking, Louis, please? Just stop...stop talking about tomorrow, stop talking about my choices, stop reminding me every two seconds that what I did was really fucking stupid and I should never have done that. Because guess what, Louis? I get it, okay. I get that I was being a dumbass, and now I'm being punished for it. Just...stop talking about tomorrow, because I just don't give a damn anymore."

"Okay." Louis mumbled, turning away from James with an embarrassed look. Victorie only sighed and got up from her seat, walking off. "I'm sorry, though, James. I just thought, you know, maybe now you'd see the potential you still have availed to you-the jobs you could apply for, the new options that you have…" James glared at him, and Louis fell silent for a moment, looking away, and cleared his throat loudly.

It was partly Louis' fault that James was now sitting in Shell Cottage, staring angrily out the window at the loud rain, wishing to be sleeping in the bunk above his cousin on a rattling train, listening to the snores of forty others, and dreaming.

"How long has it been raining?" Louis asked nonchalantly in an attempt to change the subject; James only continued to scowl and throw little bits of sticks in the fire, imagining it was the train.

Though he didn't mean it, an awful thought crossed James' brain just then.

_I hope Fred fails tomorrow._ He knew it wasn't right to think such mean things, but tonight felt like a night to be jealous and angry and maybe even a little petty.

Why didn't James ever get anything he wanted? Why did everything good always get screwed up?

"D-do you think he's going to do well tomorrow?" James asked, not looking at Louis. "Do you think he's going to make it? Fred's always been really good…not as good as me, of course, but he was bloody fantastic in school and….I suppose he deserves this, doesn't he? I mean, it took two years for him to even accepted for auditions and I was swept in right off the bat…I'm sure he was mad at me when I got my letter….I'm just so…_angry _right now, even though I know I shouldn't be. Do you know what I mean?" he asked, glancing at Louis, who nodded.

"Sometimes, I get really mad at you and Fred…I mean, it seems like you two always had it so easy in school, and that everyone just _loved _you. And even more than being handsome and smart, you were talented at Quidditch." Louis turned away, fists clenched. "I remember always being so mad at both of you-I was stuck in between the two Wonder Weasleys, and I had no way of proving myself to anyone." James started to speak, but Louis only shrugged, tapping his fingers against the glass windowpane. "I'm over it now, mostly. I'm fine."

"We didn't mean to make you feel bad-"

"I said I'm fine, James. It's been two years, nearly, since I graduated, and I'm fine now, really. It's you who needs to realise this isn't the end of the world. Yeah, you've been pulled from auditions this year by your parents because of your own stupid mistakes. Yeah, you acted really dumb, failing all your N.E.W.T.s because you thought this would be an easy way out of trying in school-but there's always next year. Tomorrow, that's Fred's chance-yours is still coming, but tomorrow is for Fred, and we need to support him as much as we can. He's our cousin, and we need to show him that we care."

"Yeah, okay," James mumbled, throwing another stick into the fire. "Fine. Tomorrow is for Fred, fine. Whatever."

….

_July 9, 2023_

Day had broken about six or seven hours ago, and by now, Fred had begun try-outs for Puddlemere. James was snoring away in the living room when his mobile phone began to ring from the kitchen counter.

Louis glanced at his cousin, determined that the younger boy was _not _going to wake up, and got to his feet, snatching the phone up.

He was still bleary-eyed himself, tired from a long night of _not sleeping, _and fumbled the phone in his effort to answer it.

"Hello?" Louis whispered, adjusting the phone in his hand. "This is Louis Weasley-"he nodded, eyes going wide. "No-no…yes….uh-huh….oh, oh….I see…um, I'm his cousin-oh, oh, okay. Uh-huh, thank you. Thanks, uh…okay. I, uh, um. Yes, alright, I'll be sure to tell him. Okay."

He turned to look at the couch where James was sleeping, and sighed heavily, deciding that this was news that could wait a few more hours.

The rain continued to splatter loudly against the window as Louis set James' phone back on the counter, which was still lit up brightly with its last text mention from early this morning.

_Raining hard-think im doing well tho. wish me luck-Fred. _


	59. Louis&Rose: Stranger

_November 29, 2020_

How is it possible that you could be related to someone-be only two years older than them-and be nothing more than strangers?

Hell, Rose and Louis were even in the same house (Ravenclaw) and they hardly even knew a thing about each other.

Really, though, Louis wasn't too terribly surprised; after all, while they were both naturally smart, Louis was a slacker, and Rose was intensely focused on her studies.

She hated Quidditch and partying and even socialising beyond what was expected of her (all three were things that Louis was an expert at) and he was loud, obnoxious, and a bit of a prat.

She was stuck up and he was selfish. She was good at helping people and he just wanted to fit in.

Two years: that's all that separated Louis and Rose; two years and a long list of contrasts that had set them at opposite ends since they were little kids.

Though Louis had never really thought about it-never really sat down to consider his relationship with any of his cousins-he knew deep down that none of those people were much more than strangers to him.

He didn't know what they liked or who they liked or what their goals were. He was just blindly leading himself down a path filled only with _Louis' interests_.

He'd never bothered to check on Lucy beyond those first few months, never bothered to stop by and see if the younger kids were settled into Hogwarts properly.

He'd never even stopped to wonder why Molly was so determined to see him graduate.

His cousins were strangers-and Louis didn't even know, or care.

….

Louis groaned, feeling his eyes flutter as he tried to finish the page he was reading. It somehow was meant to relate to what they'd been talking about in Charms with Madame Penning, but Louis couldn't get himself to focus on the chapter long enough to figure out what he was even meant to be writing his essay on for class.

It was boring and full of big words that Louis didn't understand and didn't feel like looking up just then. Maybe he'd be able to talk Lucy into letting him see a copy of her notes from class, or maybe he would be able to find something in Dominique's stack of old essays.

Either way, he really didn't think he'd be able to finish this by Thursday.

He'd have to go take a walk then, get out of the common room for a little while-he needed to wander about for a while, that was all, and then he'd come back ready to study _properly_.

Louis got to his feet, deciding that he might wander past the library, to see if Lucy or Dominique was there.

As he walked down the hallway, however, a tapestry rustled and his cousin, Rose, stepped out, her red hair done up using hair clips.

She looked like a mess, and Louis very nearly mentioned it to her, except that she looked so frightened.

"I have to tell you something, Louis. I have to…to show you something." Rose said, trembling horribly. She turned her head downwards, away from him, rifling through her school bag with quivering fingers. Her whole body, her entire posture, screamed nervousness and fear-and Louis had no idea why his cousin was even afraid, or why she was coming to him about it.

She pulled out a small, black object around eight centimetres in length, polished like ebony, with a small, nearly undetectable button on top.

Louis' first thought was that it was some sort of bomb.

"What do you think, then?" Rose asked, handing him the unusual object. "I found it in James' bag last week; he doesn't seem to even know it's gone, yet."

Louis took the slender object from her, turning it over and over in his hands, feeling the cold metal against his warm hands.

He didn't know what it was or what it did, but something about the metal piece didn't seem right. It almost felt...dark.

He was almost certain that-even if this wasn't a bomb-it had probably not been built for friendly purposes.

"Maybe he didn't even know _he _had it in the first place, though," Louis said somewhat hopefully, scratching at one end of the metal thing with his thumbnail, making sure to keep far away from the button. "I mean, James is crazy and reckless, but whatever this is about, I'm sure James would never be involved in anything...dangerous or suspect."

_But it almost looks like a bomb of some sort._

"Illegal, you mean?" Rose asked, her eyebrow lifted slightly. I don't know, Louis, I really don't. James may be always willing to cross the line between crazy fun and dangerous illegal actions-who's to say he hasn't already? I mean...I really do hope I'm being stupid and paranoid but...James _has _been acting very suspicious lately and...I suppose...yeah, he's our cousin and we love him and all, but how much do you or I really know about James? He's practically a stranger, if you think about it. We don't know anything about him, or what he might do. He's a stranger to me, Louis."

"You are, too," Louis mumbled under his breath, still looking at the slender, black item in his hands, imagining his cousin flinging it at a group of innocent children, laughing cruelly as the school burnt down.

No, Rose was right-Louis barely did know his own cousins, didn't know what sort of people these children were becoming.

When was the last time he had even bothered to find out, to take even two seconds to ask about them?

And now, the two of them were considering the possibility of their cousin being a psychotic murderer.

"What are we going to do with this thing, then, Louis?" Rose asked, taking back the slender item (_the bomb?_) though Louis could see her hands shaking as she did so. The thing (_bomb_) made her nervous, and Louis didn't much blame her-if they really _were _looking at a new sort of explosive (if James had known what he was doing with it), this was _not _good news. "Should we alert the Ministry of Magic about this?"

"We have to get rid of it, at least. I mean...we don't know what this is or-or what it even does, but if it _is _dangerous, we need to get rid of it. Bury the damn thing, maybe, or toss it in the lake-we can't just leave it here, in case some little kid finds it and decides to start playing with it. Let's leave the Ministry out of this just…just in case, you know? In case it's nothing, I don't want James getting in trouble, you know?"

Rose nodded and they started their way out of the library, the slender stick (_oh, Merlin, I really hope this isn't a bomb, that James isn't involved in anything stupid_) carefully placed in Rose's pocket, her hands trembling something awful as he held the door open for her.

Louis knew, though, that even with the removal of the (_maybe_) bomb, his problems were far from over. His cousins were still strangers, still these vague people that he barely knew, despite years of Sunday dinners.

He'd have to remedy that situation soon. Before anyone got hurt.


	60. Louis&Albus: Storm

_December 25, 2015_

He had heard his cousin's eyes being compared to emerald before, but to Louis, they were more like jaspers.

They were warmer and happier than the cold, harsh reality of emeralds-they were easier to meet than the greener eyes of his father.

Louis had many times stared at his cousin's eyes, seeing the warm stones reflecting back at him, and wondered if his cousin truly knew that his eyes were made of jasper, something that glinted in the light and made people want to look again.

And again.

And again.

His green eyes were much friendly than the cold blue of Louis' older sisters, or the angry brown of James and Lily.

Albus was the only green eyed cousin, and he was also the friendliest.

(Louis didn't quite see the connection between the two, but he was pretty sure they were there.)

Albus always wore a smile on his face, and those gemstones for eyes of his glinted up at everyone, reminding them that _here _was a child who was not quite like everyone else.

This was, of course not something that Louis would ever tell his cousin-it was just one of the many things Louis had noted over family dinner, sitting across from his younger cousin, who always ate quietly and rarely ever spoke, just sitting in his seat, staring around at everything.

Even this Christmas, he just sat at dinner without a word, quietly munching away at his roast beef and listening to his family discuss current affairs rather loudly over the dinner table; Albus didn't speak once, nor did Louis, who was too busy watching the younger boy.

Dinner that Christmas was a strange affair.

It was their first true Christmas since Uncle Charlie had died-since, last year, Grandma Molly hadn't felt up to having a proper Christmas without her son.

(Besides that, it had also been the first Christmas since Albus had come home from the hospital with his legs bandaged and nearly useless.)

The Potters showed up with their youngest son on wobbly legs, stiff braces holding him up as his parents flocking him on either side.

It was storming outside, heavy rain that turned into snow and sleet as it fell, leaving the ground outside of Grandma Molly's house a complete wreck.

Coats and snow boots had been discarded in a clatter by the front door and a fire raged in the sitting room.

Yet, still, Louis shivered as he ate his way through roast beef and soup and a strange cherry and lemon pie that his Aunt Audrey had made.

He kept one eye on Albus, watching him the entire time, fascinated by these sudden changes in the younger boy.

Albus had never been a very loud child to begin with-he had always been a little shy, but at family dinners, Louis knew his cousin at least spoke long enough to ask for some food or to comment lightly on some story his brother was telling.

Tonight, however, now well into the second hour of their Christmas feast, Albus had said nothing more than a polite hello to his grandparents.

Louis couldn't help but watch the boy, curious to see not only the physical changes in the nine year old, but the mental ones as well.

This was not the same Albus Potter he had seen last summer; this was not the same Albus Potter that had joked and spoke lightly.

This was a child who had buried himself deep underground.

"Can I go outside?" Albus asked quietly, the only thing he'd said all dinner.

The others looked over in surprise, as if they'd even forgotten about the tiny boy amongst all their own clatter and chattering.

"It's raining, Albie, it's absolutely storming outside-" Aunt Ginny began, but Uncle Harry nodded, whispering something in her ear. She frowned, but nodded at Albus as well. "Someone has to go with you, though. You can't walk out there by yourself. James?"

James groaned, but started to get up, scowling at his brother.

Louis didn't know why, but he suddenly felt the urge to stand up himself, wanted to talk to his little cousin out in the snow.

Louis stood up as Albus clambered to his feet-his fork clattered on the table, and Uncle Harry turned to look at the two of them, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"I...I can take him out for a walk, Uncle Harry," Louis said, gulping, and Albus merely shrugged, lumbering over to the front door.

Louis followed after, watching the smaller boy carefully as he struggled to walk with his braces.

They wrapped up his legs, making his movements clunky, almost robotic.

Louis opened the door for his cousin, making sure to grab an umbrella, and their jackets, which were bulky and heavy, perfect for the cold snow that covered the ground outside.

Albus smiled in thanks, but silently led the way outside, looking up with a satisfied sigh at the stars above.

He seemed more relaxed now, his shoulders slumping as the tension in them pooled out from Albus.

"I love it out here a lot more than in there," Albus murmured, not looking at Louis as he lumbered through the heavy snow. Aunt Ginny had been right, it really was storming out here as they walked, Albus slowly and Louis carefully. "There's a lot less questions out here."

He turned to smile wanly at Louis.

_Jade green, _Louis thought absent-mindedly, staring at his cousin as they walked. _His eyes are still jade green. Still happy. Filled with anger-some unseen storm that he's bottling up inside, but he's still happy inside. Or maybe he's just faking it. I wouldn't blame him. _

"I've got jelly beans," Louis blurted out, not sure where the statement had even come from. However, despite both boy's absolute confusion about this, Louis pulled out a bag of jelly babies from his pocket, offering it to the younger boy.

"Thanks," Albus murmured, and they kept walking silently for a little while longer.

The house wasn't too far off, but already it seemed like a distant dream, like something that Louis had imagined-if he blinked, it would disappear and he would realise the whole thing had been a dream.

After a while, Albus turned to go back inside, claiming he felt better now, having spent some time away from his family, and Louis happily led him back.

The two hadn't spoken more than a dozen words to each other, yet each walked feeling a little bit lighter for a reason they couldn't quite explain.

It stormed around them, but they went back to their grandmother's house content.

Though it was dark and dangerous outside, with the winds howling and the snow piling up over everything, inside, they knew that it was possible to weather any storm.


	61. Louis&Lily: Underneath

_Underneath this hard exterior that I show to you lies a scared child._

….

_October 19, 2014_

Louis watched as Lily climbed higher in the tree, grinning down at him like she was the cleverest child he'd ever seen.

She wrapped her arms tightly around a particularly thick branch and laughed, her voice high and clear.

The wind blew through the leaves, tugging at her hair, and Lily might have been dancing up there in the sky, as she bounced lightly up and down, a princess tucked away in her castle.

He was the knight come to rescue her, still stuck on the lower branches.

She was six, and he was ten, two young children hiding from their parents in the woods behind the Potter's house, pretending the grown-ups didn't exist.

Outside was a whole world just for them, and Lily grinned down at him, a mischievous little monkey, laughing as he struggled to clamber after her.

Louis laughed right back up at her, reaching for a branch, tugging himself up.

Lily let out a little shriek, covering her mouth with her hands as he followed after her, prepared to slay the imaginary dragons and rescue his princess.

She mimed shoving him down, pretending to shake the branches, but he only gave her his biggest smile, pulling himself even higher.

She pretended to shriek, leaping upwards, now several branches above him, though neither were yet worried about height.

How far down the ground lay below them was the sort of thing you only worried about when falling. Neither were very concerned about the dangers of hurting themselves as they played their little monkey game.

After all, princesses didn't die and knights rarely ever failed.

Lily smiled at the boy who climbed underneath her, waving at him, and Louis waved back.

The tree shook with wind and with the weight of their laughter, but as his hand hit the branch that her heel stepped off of, they both chuckled and pulled on each other.

Louis stopped even with his younger cousin, reaching out to kiss her hand, and she blushed, a pretty little princess in a dirty t-shirt and faded jeans.

And he was the most dashing knight she'd ever seen, in his khakis that were a size too big and his t-shirt that was a size too small.

The two of them sat still on that branch for a while, joking and laughing and pretending like they truly were the great heroes of their childhood, shoving each other lightly, until Victoire and Albus found them and said it was time for dinner.

A spell that had washed over them all afternoon suddenly popped like a burst bubble, and rather than exciting adventures, they were just two little kids with big imaginations.

Clambering down, grinning at those underneath them, Louis and Lily became aware of the rather large height drop, and they were much more cautious in their descent.

They did not speak of that day again, not even to each other.

The magic was over, and their masks had been pulled down over their faces.

….

_Underneath this hard exterior that I show to you lies_

...

_September 1, 2015_

She begged him to take her along with him to Hogwarts, begged him to sneak her aboard the train, because surely no one would notice.

Lily had hardly ever spent a weekend without her cousin, and now he was asking her to go nearly an entire year without seeing his grinning face or listen to his teasing remarks.

It wasn't fair, she told him, stamping her foot and threatening to hide inside his luggage. He only laughed and told her to run off, because he had to pack.

It was the first time he'd ever ignored her, turned her away, and it stung terribly. She was getting used to saying good-bye, but it is Louis' which hurts most of all.

He did not write that entire year, not once, not to Lily. She hated him for that, hated the fact that he had ditched her after years of promising that even Hogwarts was not enough to separate them. She was seven and he was just barely eleven, and Louis did not write to her once, as though he had forgotten his sweet little cousin with her fiery hair and her awful temper.

She did not write to him either, too angry, too frustrated-too mad at herself for believing that he would be any different. It was the same way with all her cousins.

They left for Hogwarts, and they ditched her. She hid her anger underneath false smiles, and she cried.

She did not love Louis anymore, she swore to herself, but even then, Lily knew it was a lie.

She loved him too much, was the problem.

He was her cousin, her amazing cousin, and he cared for her like a brother. She felt safe around him, she felt happy around him, and Louis had ditched her like all the others.

Underneath his charm had only been the quiet emptiness that she should have seen coming, because her story was one that always ended the same.

Lily's mask stayed firmly over her tear-soaked cheeks.

….

_Underneath this hard exterior that I show to you_

….

_December 11, 2021_

When Louis was seventeen and she was thirteen, he asked her to dance with him at Victoire's wedding, extending a hand out to the sullen little girl in her pretty yellow dress.

She looked up, seeing her older cousin in his blue dress robes and the wife smile on his face, and Lily did not remember the heartache from six years ago when he had left her alone for almost a whole year without a single letter.

She accepted his offer to dance gladly, taking his hand in hers, letting Louis lead her out to the dance floor, where they clumsily spun about in circles, neither quite sure what to do. They were almost perfect, but not quite in beat.

Neither cared.

He laughed at her jokes and she mocked his new haircut, giggling when others around them glared at their antics.

They were young and reckless and Victoire was getting married. What could be better than today, holding each other's hands and pretending to be perfect?

She was his princess, graceful and delicate; he was her gallant knight, brave and strong and true.

She clung to his arms as they danced, cursing her heels, and he promised to keep her safe, as he always did. As he always would.

She laughed in his arms, letting him lead her around the dance floor, and she chattered away about nothing.

It didn't matter what they talked about right now, because for now, they were together again.

She smiled at him and pulled at their masks, but they stayed firmly on.

...

_Underneath this hard exterior_

….

_August 14, 2026_

"Lily?" he asked her, and she turned to look at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

It would be a long time before they saw each other again, with him off to go study dragons and she preparing for a life hidden amongst the arts, where she could paint and draw to her heart's content, until she fell asleep dreaming of great men like Van Gogh and Picasso.

She was eighteen and he was twenty-two, each readying themselves for their own paths, their own destinies.

And yet, in the crowded train station that was brimming with broken dreams, he smiled down at her.

"Lily?" he whispered again, hoping that maybe she would drop her suitcase and run to him like in the movies, hugging him tightly and swearing it had all been a mistake, but they both knew the truth.

He belonged with the dragons and she belonged in the countryside, painting and following unicorns. Theirs was a friendship that lasts a lifetime, but this lifetime was drawing to a close.

A new beginning was somewhere out there, waiting for the two of them, and as she waved good-bye, he knew the first steps had already been taken.

"Lily." He said one last time, lifting a hand to see her off.

Though he showed no emotion on the outside, it was obvious to the both of them that, underneath his hard shell, he was a wreck, his bags by his side as he saw her off, turning to catch his own train.

For years, they had been playmates of sort, aware that this day would come, but keeping it under wraps, not wanting to admit the truth, even to themselves or each other.

They knew that, underneath all the jokes and laughter, a day would soon come that they would have to depart.

And now, that day had come.

Lily settled into her seat with a sad sigh, wishing for her prince, and Louis wondered what had happened that his princess was gone.

The magic was over and the masks had been pulled off to reveal what was underneath-what had always been underneath: two scared children, afraid to admit they had grown up and grown apart and left the other behind for a new world.

….

_Underneath_


	62. Louis&Hugo: Endurance

_Stutter (vb): to speak with involuntary disruption or blocking of sounds. _

_Endurance (n): the ability to withstand hardship or stress. _

….

_August 20, 2018_

Louis stared at his younger cousin, blinking somewhat mulishly as he tried to make sense of the note he'd just received from the little boy.

_I need your help to stop my stuttering, Louis._

Hugo looked up at him with wide eyes-silent as always, not speaking a word-and Louis frowned.

He knew the ten year old had a terrible stutter-an awful stutter that had led to him being almost completely silent, and he also knew there was nothing he could do to "help" Louis when psychiatrists (multiple, as least four, who had all given up on cracking the case that was Hugo Weasley) had failed.

He didn't think there was any real cure for Hugo-the boy would just have to endure his problems.

"I can't help you," Louis told the boy, shrugging. "I don't know how to help you with that, sorry. Maybe Teddy or Victorie know something I don't, maybe they can help somehow-" the boy tapped Louis on the shoulder, handing him the battered notebook once more.

_You're popular, Louis. Teach me to be popular so I'll stop stuttering._

_"_I think you're a bit confused there, Hugo, buddy. I'm not really Mr. Popular and I'm not even really sure where you got that ridiculous notion, because I'm not, trust me. Besides, being popular won't stop you from stuttering. Trust me, buddy, life won't get any better just because you can speak like the rest of us. There's a lot of crap you still have to endure through."

_At least I'd talk normally, though. _Hugostuck Louis with a harsh stare, his eyes going wide as if to say _I don't want to merely survive-I want to come out on top. _

Louis recognised that stare, that look if such angry, fierce determination so present in his cousin's eyes-it scared Louis, seeing the anger in his cousin.

It was even worse that Louis could connect with that so well-he could understand the anger, the determination.

It was the same thing he saw in Dominique every day, and it was the same thing that stared back at Louis in the mirror.

….

Hugo sat in front of his mirror, opening and closing his mouth, widening his smile, doing everything he could think of as he tried to figure out what, exactly, it was that made him different.

He couldn't see a difference between his own mouth and the mouths of those around him-the ones who could speak with a tremble in their voice.

The ones who did so much more than just endure-the ones who were successful and happy and not weird, like Hugo.

What made him different? Why did he t-t-trip over his own words when most people seemed to manage just fine? Where had he gone wrong, screwed up?

(Or had he always been that way-born messed up, destined to always stutter and mumble and hide.)

All he wanted was for the words to come out-not just slashed across a page in his scrawling writing, but spoken eloquently or at least…normally.

"Y-you can t-talk n-n-n-normally." He whispered to the boy in the mirror, wincing with every stumble ad crack. "Y-you a-are f-f-f-f...okay. You a-a-are okay-kay. You are. A-act like it. A-act n-normal, act like your n-n-normal."

He glared at himself in the mirror, trying catch himself in the act of stu-st-stuttering, so he could figure this whole thing out.

But there seemed to be nothing wrong with him, not physically, at least. Perhaps it was a mental thing, them.

Maybe he was just stupid or part of his brain didn't work the way it ought to.

Sometimes, Hugo wanted to just steal his sister's wand whisper _Obliviate_, so he could forget all of this. Never again would he have to wince every time he opened his mouth; never again would people look at him funny when he ordered his meals using that stupid, battered notebook.

If he could just wipe his memory and start over-move somewhere else-then maybe he'd end up normal. Maybe he'd finally talk normal, and act normal, and even think normally.

But at the same time, he didn't want to leave his family, or his friends.

_I don't want to endure, I want to be normal. _

….

Louis felt his hand smash into the mirror, the glass cracking, but not breaking entirely. He groaned, and pulled away to check for the blood that was bubbling between his fingers.

He sighed, getting to his feet in search of a wash cloth, or at least a towel.

He hated the anger that had filled him up just then as he pounded upstairs, ignoring the questioning glances of other cousins.

He had managed to hold in the anger until he'd reached his bedroom, but one glance in the mirror and-

_crash!_

He hadn't even meant to do it, hadn't meant to fling himself at that stupid reflection looking out at him, mocking him.

The mirror showed only a smiling glimpse at perfection, a fourteen year old boy who wasn't a _screw up. _Louis couldn't ever do anything right, even when he tried, and all that mirror did was prove it to him. _You fuck everything up, Louis Charles Weasley. Why don't you just admit it? _

Why had Hugo bothered him with this, bringing up angry memories of older boys who cornered Louis and beat him up after school?

Maybe Hugo didn't know about that-the scars and bruises that Louis had hid for ages-but the fact that his little cousin was so naïve as to think Louis was a _popular kid_?

Where in the hell had he even gotten that ridiculous notion from?

_He sees you as normal-as something to look up to. You're pretty good at pretending to be normal, aren't you?_

The way Hugo had come over so eagerly, expecting Louis to have some simple trick that would make all his troubles go away with a spell or a potion.

The kid was ten years old, dammit, didn't he understand there was nothing, _nothing_, that would make life easier for him? Louis had figured it out-you endure, you die, you get out.

That's the way it was, and was it really Louis' fault that Hugo was too stupid to realise that?

No, no it wasn't. But Louis had promised himself years ago that he was tired of listening to what the others said, about giving up, about letting in, about just _enduring it _until things got better.

Because things weren't getting better, not for him, not for Hugo, and certainly not for Dominique. Things were slowly tumbling downhill, and Louis wasn't sure he had the time or the patience to wait for everything to _get better_, especially if doing something now would save someone.

_I have endured. I have endured your taunts and your teasing and your pushing. I have endured the looks I get in the hallway, the whispers, and the mirrors that I cover to avoid looking at. I_

_have seen my own sister crumple before me, convinced there's nowhere else to go, nothing for her to do except endure and die._

_I have seen my cousin-just a little kid-dissolve into tears because he can't make himself talk the way everyone else does. _

_I have seen people just waste away because someone told them over and over to fucking _endure it, _because it somehow gets better. _

_It's not getting better, not for anyone, and I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of marching on like a good little soldier, just waiting for my rainbow, just waiting for my happy ending. _

_I'm not enduring, I'm failing-and I'm tired of it._

_We're all tired of it. _

Louis got to his feet, jaw set tightly, ignoring the blood still staining his hand, or the mirror, with its crack. He had to find his cousin-he had to find Hugo and make sure the younger boy was alright.

Because Louis had lied to him, saying _just endure it_-there was another way of making things better. Fight it, force your way towards normal, stop giving a damn what anyone else thought.

_Obliviate _yourself, forget all the bad memories-keep making your way towards normal, and ignore anyone who tells you normal doesn't exist.

Make your own path, your own story-that's what Hugo needed to know. Don't endure, be normal.

_I don't want to endure, I want to be normal. _


	63. Louis&Roxanne: Melody

_April 9, 2032_

When Roxanne Angelina Weasley was nine years old, she sat down in her room one day after school and decided that she wanted three things in her life to happen to her before her twenty-first birthday:

_One_, she wanted to be the world's best jazz trumpet player, despite not knowing how to even play the trumpet, or what a trumpet really was.

_Two_, she wanted to change her name-or at least convince everyone else to call her-Ruby. She liked the name, and thought it sounded prettier than Roxanne.

_Three_, she wanted people looking at her as nothing more than _the youngest Weasley grandchild. _She wanted people to see her as something more than just her family.

….

Roxanne Angelina Weasley sighed, scrubbing at the plate in her hand, wishing she had her wand to make things go faster-but this was a muggle restaurant, and if she had even _shown _one of her co-workers or a customer what she really was….life as a minimum-wage fast food restaurant employee was nothing compared to the kind of hell she'd find in Azkaban.

It wasn't worth risking the entire Statute of Secrecy just to get her job done a little faster; Roxanne hated her job, but she at least liked the idea of having a job rather than spending the next twenty years of her life in a tiny cell.

Roxanne had moved as far away from her old life as she possibly could, despite knowing that her family was still trying to get used to the death of Roxy's older (and meaner) cousin, Dominique.

She knew it most likely wasn't easy on her parents, who weren't exactly the youngest and spryest people around anymore, but she had grown tired of life amongst her many cousins, who were all so much older and stronger and smarter and _everything _than her.

Anything Roxanne achieved, one of her cousins already had years before.

Well, everything _except _for one thing-Roxanne had been the only Slytherin in her entire family, the only one to don green and silver proudly, ignoring her family's squawks and complaints, ignoring the strange glances it got her from her brother and cousins and even her parents.

Roxanne had wanted to be an individual-had always wanted to be an individual-and so she had so willingly taken on her role as the Slytherin, sneaking around and doing what she wanted, not ever thinking about anyone else.

After all, she was finally in the place she belonged, amongst her fellow snakes, who also understood what it was like to be part of a seething mass of never being able to stick out.

But, much too soon, Roxanne had graduated, the very last of her cousins (as usual) and she'd been tossed from the only life that felt real to her.

Roxanne no longer knew what to do, where to go.

She was lost in a sea of people, just another vaguely pretty girl with no real talent.

And so, she had ran away from home, tired of feeling the pressure from her family to _go out and do something_-because she was still just a kid who didn't quite know what she wanted.

So she had run away, run off from everything that bothered her, which was why she was here now, finishing up work to go home to her dingy flat, where the lights flickered and the air conditioning was shoddy all the time, but at least she had her violin to bring some sweet music to the place, to let the sweet little melody of life drift peacefully through her flat.

She didn't miss most of her family, who had been much older than she and more interested in their own affairs; certainly, her six-years-older brother Fred had never seemed to have enough time for her, not even five minutes to make sure she was happy.

(And look what had happened to _him_.)

But Louis had cared, at least. Louis, who was five years older than she was, who wasn't in the same house as her, didn't seem to really notice her until one day at the train station.

She had been not quite five and he had been ten, one year away from school, and she was crying.

Fred was leaving her for the first time.

Louis, alone, went to comfort her, when her parents were too busy saying good-bye to Fred and the others who were at school; he, too, understood what it was like, with two older sisters leaving him behind in the dust.

He held her hand and told her it would be okay, and even now, fifteen years down the line, she missed him. He was the only one she missed, the only one she wanted to see.

But, at the same time, she did not _ever _want to see him-or anyone else-ever again.

….

"Hey, Roxy," Louis said, grinning. She nearly shut the door in his face, wanting to scream, wanting to run far away and never see his stupid, fat face again.

She hadn't wanted to be found, hadn't wanted to be found like _this_, with her violin in one hand, humming softly as she stumbled to play the beautiful melody.

"It's nice to see you again, Roxanne." Louis said, his blue eyes smiling at her, and she was suddenly eleven again, letting Louis walk her across the quietly down to the shore, trusting that he would keep an eye on her.

"I wish I could say the same thing about you, Louis," Roxanne said, and he laughed, but it wasn't a mocking sort of laugh, just enough to turn the corners of his mouth up. "How'd you find me, Louis? And, more importantly, why are you even here?"

"I dunno….maybe I just wanted to hear my cousin play that beautiful melody. When did you learn how to play the violin?" he asked, but Roxanne only shook her head.

It had been two years since they had last seen each other at a disastrous Weasley dinner that had ended with Lily in tears and Roxanne on her way out the door as fast as she could get; Louis hadn't bothered stopping her or following her, nor had anyone else, and Roxanne had spent the past two years of her life trying to put her family and her history behind her.

She didn't need Louis to suddenly intrude and ruin any of that. She missed him dearly, but she didn't want to see him, not here; she wasn't ready to face her family or her past just yet. She wasn't ready to see _him_ again.

"It was just a melody is all," Roxanne said, and she shut the door. After all, that's nothing more than she was-just a girl, just a Slytherin, just a Weasley, just a name. Just…._nothing. _And Roxanne was done being nothing.

….

When Roxanne Angelina Weasley was twenty-one years old, she sat down in her room one day after work and decided that the three things she had wanted to happen in her life before her twenty-first birthday just weren't going to happen:

_One_, she wanted to be the world's best jazz trumpet player, despite not knowing how to even play the trumpet, or what a trumpet really was. _Well, she still couldn't play the trumpet at all, but at least she was learning the violin. _

_Two_, she wanted to change her name-or at least convince everyone else to call her-Ruby. She liked the name, and thought it sounded prettier than Roxanne. _Maybe Roxanne wasn't the worst name in the world. After all, she didn't know too many people with that name. _

_Three_, she wanted people looking at her as nothing more than _the youngest Weasley grandchild. _She wanted people to see her as something more than just her family. _No, she wasn't more than just her family, but at least Roxanne was creating her own story now. _


	64. James&Albus: Open Your Eyes

_November 9, 2014_

"Open your eyes, James," Albus whispered to his older brother, resting on top of James so that their cheeks were touching. He felt the warmth of his brother underneath him, Albus' small body moving slightly with every breath that James took.

"Leave me alone, Albie, I'm tryin' to sleep," James grumbled sleepily, shoving the smaller boy off of him, which only made Albus laugh lightly and scramble on top of his brother once more. "It's too early to be up, what're you doin'?"

"The sun's up already," Albus replied, sliding off of the bed to tug open one of the curtains that served to darken James' and Albus' room. "If the sun's up, then that's good enough for _me _to be up. Besides, I like morning time."

"Ugh…" James groaned, rolling over in his bed as the sunlight filtered into the room, shining directly into the nine year old's eyes. "Why'd I have to end up with a morning person for a little brother? Go back to sleep, for Merlin's sake, Albie, and leave me _be_. I'm tired, and you're not _helping_."

James had never been much of a morning person, unlike his excitable, early riser of a little brother, who often times would wake with the morning star and seemed to not quite understand why no one else would want to _not_ wake up so early.

"The sun is still rising, Jamie, you haven't missed it yet," Albus said, patting James' cheek. "Can't you come watch it with me? Please? The sunrise is always my favourite part of the day! Come watch it with me, please, please, _please?_"

James shoved his brother off of the bed once again, attempting to cover his head in blankets so that Albus would leave him alone.

How was it that Albus could be such a morning person? It was much too early for any sane person to even _consider_ being awake yet, especially since the sun was still not yet done rising in the sky.

Yet, here was Albus, bouncing about energetically, already dressed for the day, and trying to get James up as well to join in his madness.

"Just let me sleep, Albie," James grumbled from under the blankets, ignoring the poking, prodding fingers of his little brother. "It's too early for _anyone_ to be up, but most of all _me_. I need to sleep, not go watch the sun wake up. Anyway, I bet it wants to awake about as much as I do right now."

"No! No!" Albus cried, leaping onto his brother's bed once more, tugging the blankets from James' face, and excitedly pushing down on the older boy. "The sun_ wants_ to be up, and so do you! We have to watch it finish waking up, c'mon Jamie, or we'll miss the _whole thing_! C'mon, c'mon, wake _up_, Jamie, wake up _now_!"

James glared at the excited face of his brother, wishing that the little eight year old wasn't quite so energetic, especially in the morning.

Right now was a time for peace and quiet-and sleep as well, of course-all of which were currently being denied to James as his brother continued his attempts to drag James from the bed.

"It is too _early_, Albie. I'm not going anywhere to do anything, not at an hour like this. _I _am going to stay here, in my bed, and sleep until a decent hour, like ten or something. _You_ can continue doing whatever it is that you want-serenading the sun or whatever-but please, for the love of Merlin, leave me _out of it_!" James ripped the blankets from Albus' grip once more, and buried his head underneath.

Albus fell to the floor from the force of his brother's wrenching tug, and the eight year old looked up forlornly at James, eyes filling with tears.

All he had wanted to do was spend time with his big brother James. Too soon, James would be ten and then eleven, and he'd quickly be preparing to leave for Hogwarts, just like everyone else. He'd be leaving _Albus_ behind, too young, too childish, for Hogwarts.

Albus sniffled as he imagined his brother disappearing to Hogwarts for a whole year, without even a letter home to Albus.

He swiped at the tears that were welling up in his eyes, and pushed himself upwards, off of the floor, scowling at James, who was still trying to sleep.

It wasn't fair! Albus had only just wanted to spend time with his big brother, before it was too much time had passed and they didn't have any left at all.

But James never wanted to do anything; it was always too hot or too cold, too early or too late, an endless list of excuses for why Albus could not be with James.

James barely ever spent time with Albus anymore, and as the eight year brushed the last of his tears away, he fretted that maybe, _maybe_, Jamie no longer liked him.

Maybe he no longer wanted to be Albus' big brother, but instead wanted to run away to Uncle George's and be brothers with cousin Freddie, who was _not_ an excitable, energetic morning person like Albus was.

"Do you not love me anymore, Jamie?" Albus asked quietly, feeling the tears prick his eyes once again. "Do you not want to be my brother anymore? I don't understood why you don't ever talk to me or play with me anymore. We don't even hang out!"

"What're you talking about, al?" James asked, sitting up in bed to look at the little boy, who continued to sniffle, dragging one sleeve across his nose. "We hang out all of the time. Like last weekend, when we were at gram's, playing Quidditch."

"You played that with Louis and lucy," Albus mumbled, recalling the game James was referring to. "I said I didn't want to, because my stomach hurt, and you called me a baby and went to play with Louis and lucy, since they _weren't _big, sick babies. That's what you told me, at least."

James had not recalled the weekend going that way at all; he could have sworn Albus had played with them, at least for a little bit.

"What about when I offered to help with your science project? Didn't I spend time with you then? Eh?" James smiled triumphantly, but Albus only shook his head.

"You forgot to help at all, and I had to get Daddy to help me finish the model. He helped me write the report, too. I asked you a bunch of times, but you always said you were too busy writing letters to Freddie at Hogwarts to help me. You said I was being whiny."

All the energy seemed to have died from Albus as he spoke, reminding James of each and every time in the recent past that he had promised something to his little brother but not fulfilled his promise; the eight year old hung his head, looking downwards sadly.

James felt guilt churn in his stomach as he remembered his shitty behaviour towards Albus in the past few months.

He really _hadn't _spent very much time with the younger boy, had he? James had been spending so much time talking to Freddie through letters, or hanging out with his cousin Louis, who was the closest to James in age, except for maybe Albus.

James sighed, realising what he had to do, to make it up to Albus. It was early, and he was certainly no morning person at all, but if it made Albus happy…

"C'mon, then, Albie, I've opened my eyes, I'm awake. Let's go watch your sunrise before it gets to be too late," the nine year old said, sliding from bed, and suddenly, Albus perked up once again, tugging on James' hand, pulling him from the bedroom.

"Oh thank you, thank you! C'mon, we'll watch it together! Oh, sunrises are my favourite parts of the day! I love them so much! C'mon, we can see it best from the porch, c'mon, Jamie, come with me!" he pulled James behind him, all smiles and happiness once again, now that his brother was spending time with him.

Now that his brother's eyes were open to how Albus felt about being left out.


End file.
